


Muggle-Raised Champion

by Stargon



Series: Dragon Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 12:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 119,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stargon/pseuds/Stargon
Summary: The day before Harry Potter was due to go to Hogwarts for the very first time, his aunt and uncle informed him that he wouldn't be going. Instead, he was sent to Stonewall High. Now, three years later, the Goblet of Fire has named him as a TriWizard Champion. What that means is anyone's guess, but to Harry, one thing is clear: he can finally get away from Privet Drive.





	1. Prologue

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/// ( 0 v 0 ) \\\\\

** Muggle-Raised Champion **

** Prologue **

_5:30pm_

_Saturday, 31 August 1991_

_4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_

.

Harry Potter’s face split into the widest of grins as he plucked the pencil stub off of his desk. Then, with his eyes sparkling in anticipation, he ticked off the second to last little square on the calendar that he’d made and pinned to his wall.

 _Just one more day,_ he thought, _one more and I’ll be leaving the Dursleys._

Harry’s world had changed dramatically almost exactly one month ago on his eleventh birthday. Although, come to think of it, it had really started some days before that. That was when those mysterious envelopes addressed to him in green ink had started to arrive.

At first, it’d only been the one lying on the doorstep with the other mail and Harry, in his befuddled ignorance, had taken it to the breakfast table where he’d tried to open it in front of his aunt, uncle and cousin. A single look was all that it seemed to take for his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to put a stop to that. Harry hadn’t realised it at the time, but that one little letter had seriously scared his relatives.

That letter had been burned unopened without the chance for Harry to know who had written him his very first ever letter.

And then had begun the Battle of the Letters.

Every day after that, more and more letters began appearing. First one, then three, then _twelve_ letters had arrived for Harry over the next few days. All addressed to Harry, and each time mentioning his exact room – firstly the cupboard under the stairs and then the smallest bedroom. Not even Uncle Vernon nailing the post flap shut had stopped them being delivered.

On Saturday, two dozen were delivered _inside_ the eggs that Aunt Petunia tried to cook for breakfast. Even then, Harry had known that it had to have been done with magic, no matter how much Uncle Vernon had vehemently denied its existence. Thirty or forty letters had come shooting out of the fireplace on Sunday, the day that there was supposed to be no post at all.

 _That_ had started a chain reaction in Uncle Vernon that included a mad drive across the country and the family sleeping in the crudest of huts in the middle of the sea in the fiercest of storms. And at midnight, exactly when Harry turned eleven, he finally received his letter.

It’d been hand delivered by the biggest man that Harry had ever seen. Hagrid, for that was the giant of a man’s name, had appeared at first and even second sight, to be incredibly scary, especially after he’d knocked the door flat to get into the hut, boomed his big voice at his relatives, plucked the shotgun out of Uncle Vernon’s hand and tied it into a knot and finished with giving his cousin Dudley a pig’s tail by magic.

After spending the day with Hagrid exploring the magical shops in Diagon Alley, Harry know knew that Hagrid really was a kind, gentle man. And how could he not think that after Hagrid had given him his first ever birthday cake and bought him his first ever gift – his best friend and owl, Hedwig. Hagrid had also introduced him to the world that his parents came from – the Wizarding world.

And now Harry knew that he himself was just like them; he, too, was a wizard. _That_ was why freakish things always seemed to happen to him and around him. And to learn it all, Harry had to attend a magic school – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in fact.

 _That_ thought brought him back to the scrap of paper that he’d turned into a calendar that he had pinned to his wall counting down the days until he could leave the Dursleys, if not for good, at least for the next ten months.

Plucking the train ticket that Hagrid had given him up from its place of honour at the top of his desk, Harry reread the details for what must have been the ten thousandth time. He was to leave from King’s Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three Quarters, at eleven o’clock on Sunday September first.

Harry’s eyes darted to the trunk sitting at the end of his bed. It was already completely packed: clothes, books, ink bottles and quills, cauldron and potion ingredients, even the little brass telescope. The only thing left sitting on top of it were the clothes that he’d wear tomorrow on this momentous journey.

With a last look at his ticket, Harry stuffed it into his pocket and went in search of his Uncle Vernon. If tomorrow was the day, then Harry figured that he’d better make sure that he could get to King’s Cross Station. It simply wouldn’t do to miss the train.

Creeping down the stairs, Harry nervously stuck his head into the living room where he could hear the blaring of the television. Sure enough, all three of his relatives were in there watching some quiz show. Taking one last swallow to gather his courage, Harry stepped into the room and nervously cleared his throat to announce his presence.

The second that the sound emerged, his cousin Dudley’s head snapped around, his small, piggish eyes widened in fear and he bolted from the couch and room as fast as he could, both hands wrapped tightly to this fat bottom and his curly pig’s tail.

Ignoring his cousin’s now predictable behaviour for any time that he entered a room, Harry turned to face his Uncle.

“Er, Uncle Vernon?” he asked.

A grunt from the enormous man seated in his favourite armchair showed that he was at least listening.

“Er, I need to be at King’s Cross tomorrow to … to go to Hogwarts.”

Once again, Uncle Vernon grunted, encouraging Harry to continue.

“Would it be alright if you gave me a lift?” he asked.

At this, Uncle Vernon reached over to the remote and turned off the television before turning to face him. Harry took a half-step back at the expression of his uncle’s face. There was a look of demented glee shining from his eyes and the ends of his bushy, walrus-like moustache were curled up with his smile.

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Uncle Vernon stated simply. “We’ve got other plans, you see.”

“What?” Harry blinked in shock.

“Yes,” Uncle Vernon continued in a voice so absolutely calm that it made Harry’s skin crawl. “Tomorrow we have an appointment at the hospital to get that ruddy tail removed that that giant freak of an oaf gave Dudley.”

“But, but how will I get to King’s Cross then?” Harry asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Uncle Vernon replied as his face morphed into a vicious scowl. “You see, you’re not. You don’t need to go to King’s Cross because you’re not going to that freak school.”

“But, but you told Hagrid …” Harry began.

“I did no such thing!” Uncle Vernon bellowed suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. “I did no such thing! And no freak, no matter how big he is, is going to tell _me_ what to do!”

“No, boy, you’ll be going to Stonewall High, just like we planned,” Aunt Petunia stated with a single nod of her horsey head as she weighed into the discussion.

“But …” Harry tried again, unsure exactly what he was going to say.

“No ‘buts’, boy,” Uncle Vernon growled. “Those ruddy freaks left you on our doorstep, burdened us with your _care_ for ten years already. We’ve given you good clothes, a place to sleep, good food and even a ruddy pair of glasses.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed at this but no sound came out. Dudley’s old cast offs were good clothes? He guessed that technically the cupboard under the stairs counted as a place to sleep and as for food, well he did eat good food, after all, he’d cooked it all – it was simply the fact that it consisted of whatever leftover scraps that he could manage to scrounge that he had an issue with.

“No, boy,” Uncle Vernon continued, “your Aunt Petunia and I are your guardians and we’re the ones who get to say what you’ll be doing. And we say that you _won’t_ be going to any freak school. You’ll go a good, decent, _normal_ school. Yes. Yes. Stonewall High’s where _you’ll_ be going. Some place where there’s no freakishness for you get even more _corrupted_ than your good-for-nothing parents already made you.”

“But they’ll be expecting me,” Harry managed to whisper.

“You’re right, there, boy,” Uncle Vernon stated, before twisting his enormous body to pluck up an envelope that was resting beside his mug of tea. “But we’ve already thought of that. We’ve written those freaks a letter. You can get that ruddy owl to take it to them. That is how freaks like to have their mail delivered, isn’t it?”

All Harry could do was nod his head, the rest of him, his thoughts included, had frozen at what his Uncle had just told him.

“Perhaps you should read it to him, Vernon, to make sure that he believes us,” Aunt Petunia suggested.

“Good idea, Pet, good idea,” Uncle Vernon replied, eyes gleaming in obvious anticipation.

Thick, pudgy fingers fished out a clean, crisp piece of paper before snapping it open.

 _“To whom it may concern,”_ Uncle Vernon read _, “We, the undersigned, as legal guardians for our nephew, Harry James Potter, declare that he shall **not**_ _be attending your school. Do not attempt to contact us in any way for we shall not be changing our decision and any attempt to do so will result in legal action being taken._

_Signed Vernon Dudley Dursely and Petunia Rose Dursely. August thirty-one, nineteen ninety-one._

_PS – Do not send the bird back; doing so will only result in it having its neck wrung._

A shocked gasp escaped Harry and it was only by putting one hand out to grasp the doorframe that stopped him from crashing to the ground on his suddenly unsteady legs.

“So, you see, boy,” Uncle Vernon continued, his eyes dancing with glee, “we’ve taken care of that for you. No freak school for you; no more bloody owl messing up my house and waking us up at godforsaken hours of the night and no more freakishness.”

Harry peeled his eyes off of the man and looked to his aunt, but if he expected any help from that quarter, he was sadly mistaken. His Aunt Petunia’s long neck was on display as she held her head high, looking down her nose at him from where she sat.

“Now, I want you to go and get all of your freakish … stuff and bring it down here – I’ll take it to the incinerator after we get back from the hospital tomorrow,” Uncle Vernon told him. “For now, you can put it in your old bedroom. When you’re in there, you’ll find a stack of Dudley’s old school exercise books and things. We’ve even been kind enough to rip out the pages that Dudley’d already used. Take it all back to your room – you’ll need them for when you go to Stonewall tomorrow.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry answered automatically, his brain still not completely processing just how fast his world was crashing around him.

“And once Dudley goes off to Smeltings next week after he … heals up, it’ll just be the three of us in the house,” Uncle Vernon continued, “and I’ll not have you getting in your Aunt’s way. So, things are going to change a bit.”

Harry’s eyes darted between the two adults as a cold shiver of dread rushed down his spine.

“You’ll still have all your normal chores, of course,” Uncle Vernon instructed, “but on top of that, I’ve found you a job.”

“A … a job?” Harry asked.

“That’s right. A fine, respectable job that’ll help you earn you keep,” Uncle Vernon beamed.

“What sort of job?” Harry managed to ask.

“You’ll be working at _Keating’s Wood n Furniture_. I’ve already arranged it with Mister Keating. He’s an old friend of mine. More than willing to have a fit, young lad like you around to help out. It’ll mostly be cleaning and sweeping and keeping the place tidy and whatever else Terry can come up with. You’ll be there from seven in the morning until seven at night, every Saturday and Sunday and then every day every school holiday. That’ll give you plenty of time to still cook our breakfast and dinner and do all of your normal chores every night.”

“But … but what about homework?” Harry gasped, trying to wrap his mind around this new situation.

“That’s your look-out, isn’t it?” Uncle Vernon grinned. “Oh, and don’t worry about needing to collect your wages. Terry and I’ve come to a nice little arrangement. He’ll be giving me whatever you earn directly. I should think that simply getting the opportunity to learn some real skills so that you don’t turn out like your freak parents will be payment enough for you.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed. A job. He’d been given a job. Any chance of having any free time had simply evaporated. He’d always liked the chance to get out of the house on the weekends, even if it did mostly end up meaning that he had to run from Dudley and his gang. At least it’d been a chance to relax and get away from his chores. Now, even that simple pleasure had been taken from him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Uncle Vernon asked, his eyes narrowing, “an engraved invitation? Get upstairs and bring down that freakishness. And make sure that you get _all_ of it – books, clothes, cauldron and especially that ruddy stick.”

At the first sign of a twitch from his Uncle’s hand, Harry scampered.

Entering his room, Harry skidded across the floor before falling to his knees in front of his new trunk. Twin trembling hands gently caressed the smooth wood before he closed his eyes and threw open the lid, sending his old Dudley hand-me-downs that he’d planned on wearing tomorrow sliding to the floor.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and stared inside the trunk. His breath hitched at what he was about to give up. All of the dreams that he’d had the past month were about to go up in flames – sitting in classes learning how to do magic, how to make things float and change, how to protect himself and all of the wondrous potions that he would have learnt to brew.

His hands ran over the spines of the books that he’d already read through, sometimes more than once. There was the thick _A History of Magic_ , the book that he’d found Hedwig’s name in; there was the _Standard Book of Spells_ that excited him so much; and there was _Magical Draughts and Potions_ that he’d found so interesting.

Quickly dashing his sleeve under his nose, Harry briefly touched the telescope and cauldron before his hand closed around his wand.  He remembered the strange man, Mister Ollivander, telling him that it was “holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.” He gave it a single determined wave, eliciting red and gold sparks out of the end of it and creating a small smile on his face before he gentle placed it back.

For a fraction of a second, Harry considered hiding the wand but even before the thought had fully formed, he knew that it was pointless – Uncle Vernon would be sure to check to make sure that it was in the trunk before he had it all destroyed.

But there was one thing that Harry knew that his aunt and uncle knew nothing about. Something that was small enough to hide and important enough to risk any sort of wrath. Digging into his trunk, Harry’s fist closed around the small metallic object before he quickly scuttled to the loose floorboard that he’d discovered under his bed. Lifting it up, Harry dropped the tiny, golden key into the hidey hole. At least his key to his vault was safe, even if he wouldn’t be able to use it again for seven years or so.

“Hurry up, boy!” Uncle Vernon bellowed up the stairs.

“Coming, Uncle Vernon,” Harry called back, before slamming the lip of the trunk closed and grabbing the handle.

He heaved the heavy trunk down the stairs, causing both his aunt and uncle to scowl at him as it _thunked_ on each step. Then, after opening the door to his old room, he wiggled the trunk backwards and forwards until it was all the way in the tiny cupboard under the stairs. There, as promised, he found the stack of old exercise books along with a tatty pencil case that he assumed was filled with half-chewed and broken pencils sitting on top of an old faded brown knapsack.

“Bring that owl down here,” Uncle Vernon instructed, “and then we can get that letter sent off to the freaks.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied, picking up the pile that he’d been eyeing with disgust.

Harry found Hedwig exactly where he’d left her, sitting on the perch in her cage, her head tucked under one wing as she slept.

“Hedwig,” Harry said sadly.

In response, the beautiful snowy white owl ruffled her feathers and swivelled her head to look at him.

“Come on, girl. Uncle Vernon’s got a letter for you to deliver,” he said.

Immediately, Hedwig preened.

“And I’m sorry girl, but you can’t come back afterwards,” Harry told her. “Uncle Vernon said that he’d kill you if you did. Perhaps you could stay with Hagrid? He was nice and he did buy you after all.”

Hedwig stretched forward and nibbled on Harry’s fingers.

Knowing that it was useless to delay, Harry lifted his best friend out of her cage and carried her downstairs.  As soon as he arrived in the living room, the letter was thrust into his chest. Taking it, Harry attached it to Hedwig’s leg with shaking fingers.

Fighting back tears, Harry took his owl across to the open window and bent down so that she could hop from his shoulder to the windowsill.

“You need to take the letter to Hogwarts. Good bye, Hedwig,” he whispered brokenly.

Then, with a last nip of his fingers, Hedwig spread her wings and soared away through the window, taking all of the wondrous thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams that Harry’d had for the past month with her.


	2. No More Freakishness

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

** Muggle-Raised Champion **

** Chapter 1 – No More Freakishness **

_7:30pm_

_Monday, 31 October 1994_

_4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_

.

A tired, sweaty Harry Potter trudged through the rear door at number four Privet Drive later than usual. Almost without thinking, his feet took him into the little laundry where he reached up and pulled down a pair of pants and a shirt from on top of the cupboard. Having placed them on the tiny bench, Harry began shucking off the overalls and undershirt that he was wearing before throwing them straight into the washing machine.

He’d learnt very early on that traipsing through the house and up to his room after work was a very bad idea.

Aunt Petunia nearly had a fit the first time that he’d left a trail of sawdust from one end of the house to the other. In fact, that was one of the very few times that Harry had actually been hit by his aunt. His Uncle Vernon, though, had had no such restraints and had shown his displeasure with Harry thinking that it was alright to come home and have a shower and get changed before making his dinner.

And after over three years, Harry now had the routine down pat: come home and straight to the laundry to change into the clothes that he’d left there, followed by scrubbing his arms and face in the basin before shaking out his hair from any loose detritus from the day’s work and then, finally re-entering the kitchen.

After that, there was dinner to make and the cleaning up to do, not to mention any chores that he’d been assigned for the day. Only then could he finally have a shower and, if he was still awake enough, attempt to do some homework ready for school the next day.

Of course, that was his routine now. The first couple of years that he’d worked at _Keating’s Wood n Furniture_ , he’d only worked weekends and holidays. But for the last year and a bit, he’d added working every afternoon after school as well. All that extra work was murder on his school results, though. He figured that that was why Uncle Vernon had renegotiated with Terry for the extra hours.

All through primary school, Harry’d known that coming home with better grades than Dudley was a _very_ bad idea. If Dudley hadn’t beaten him up for it, then Uncle Vernon made sure that he knew the inadvisability of that idea with a few well-placed slaps. And then there were the numerous times that both his cousin and uncle got in on the act.

Then had come high school where Harry and Dudley had finally been separated – Harry to Stonewall High and Dudley to Smeltings. With the two cousins at separate schools and especially with Dudley being away at boarding school, Harry had allowed his natural academic prowess to slip through. By no means was he anywhere near the top of the class, but he was definitely in the upper reaches.

And then Dudley had brought home his report card from Smeltings at the end of their first year of high school and Harry had been forced to understand just how badly he had slipped up. Every day that holiday he’d thanked his lucky stars that he was out working from dawn until dusk every day.

The second year, Harry’d tried to curb his ability, but it was hard, especially when his teachers already had an idea of the level to which he could perform. He’d even attempted to immerse himself in subjects that he knew Dudley wouldn’t even consider taking: wood working and art and even home economics. Not that it did much good – his marks were still light years above Dudley’s.

Thus, Uncle Vernon’s solution of having Harry increase his hours at _Keating’s_ to the point that if he wasn’t at school, then he was at work, and if he wasn’t there, then he was at home doing chores. Somewhere in there, he managed to find the time to do his homework, although, admittedly, most of that time was at lunchtime at school.

Stretching a kink out of his back, Harry sighed with relief. A quick glance at the clock told him that he was fast running out of time. Pots and pans were quickly retrieved, followed by potatoes, beans, carrots and a massive hunk of prime beef from the fridge.

As the small part of Harry’s brain settled into the mundane of cooking dinner for his relatives, the bulk of his mind was still processing his day. October thirty-one had never been a day that he particularly liked and especially after he’d found out that that was the day that his parents had been killed. But today had been different; it’d actually been good.

It’d started at school in art class where, at the end of the lesson, he, along with two of his classmates, had been held back by their art teacher, Mrs Jensen. The kindly old teacher had informed the three of them that there was an art competition being held the following month at the Surrey Art Gallery for high school students and that she thought that they all had the talent necessary to enter.

As thrilled as Harry was about the opportunity, he didn’t seriously consider that he’d enter, after all, the consent form buried at the bottom of his bag needed his guardian’s signature, something that he knew wouldn’t be given.

The other part of Harry’s day that still held his attention had happened at _Keating’s Wood n Furniture_. Today, both Terry and Pete, his boss and the store’s lead furniture maker, had signed off on his most elaborate piece of furniture yet.

Over the last couple of years, Terry, Pete, Sid and Old Angus had been teaching him how to use the various tools of a wood worker and had helped him learn how to select, shape and then piece together pieces of furniture. Already he’d created a full dining set (table and four chairs, in a very basic design), a single bed, a pair of bedside tables, a hat stand and a blanket box.

But for the last four months, he’d been working on a desk. And not just any desk but the best designed and constructed desk that Harry could imagine. It was five feet long with a set of four drawers on either side the leg cavity. Its top was protected by a sleek black roller top that stretched down from the top of the hutch at the front of the desk. Inside this hutch were a dozen drawers of varying sizes, along with another dozen open pigeon holes. A large black blotter set off the desk top from the rich red rowan wood that he’d created the entire desk from. Terry’d declared it the best piece that he’d seen in many a long year.

Harry was incredibly proud of what he’d been able to create. Seeing it sitting there in front of his workbench with Terry and Pete standing back, nodding at him, hints of the smiles that they were trying to hide peeking through their identical black beards had warmed Harry’s heart. He wasn’t looking forward to actually passing it along to Felicity, Terry’s wife and the one in charge of the showroom ready for sale, especially knowing that, once it sold, he wouldn’t actually see any of the profits from it. No, his share would go straight to Uncle Vernon.

 “Dinner should be ready by now, boy,” Uncle Vernon’s accusation broke into Harry’s musing.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied automatically. “I’m just about to dish up.”

With a _hmph_ of annoyance, Uncle Vernon turned and waddled from the room.

Dinner, as per normal for the Dursley household, was a quiet affair. There was a smattering of conversation between the adults while Harry was duly ignored. The instant that Harry had finished his meagre plate, he scurried about the kitchen attempting to get everything cleaned up as quickly as possible.

The sound of the doorbell froze the three of them, Vernon and Petunia still at the table and Harry with suds up to his elbows.

“Who in the devil would be calling at this time of night?” Uncle Vernon growled.

Harry had only taken a single step towards the door before a meaty hand clasped onto his shoulder. “You clean, I’ll get the door.”

Harry’s ears were quivering as he attempted to listen in on their unexpected visitor, but all that he could hear from the other end of the house was the occasional muted voice. If he had to guess, though, he would have said that there were two visitors at the door.

The thumping footsteps of his Uncle returning were accompanied by others, prompting Harry to turn as Uncle Vernon and two other men entered the kitchen.

The first was a tall, thin, elderly gentleman. His short steel grey hair was parted in an unnaturally straight line and his thin moustache was ruler straight. He was dressed in an impeccably crisp dark suit and tie, set off by highly polished shoes.

While the first looked as though he was some kind of bank manager, the other gave the impression of a dock worker or rugby player gone to seed. His upper body and arms still sported large muscles, but gone somewhat flabby and were accompanied by a paunch that rivalled Uncle Vernon’s. He had a jolly looking face and gave the impression that he knew far more dirty jokes than he could ever tell in one sitting.

His clothes, though, were … off somehow, as though he’d dressed in the dark or something. He wore an old faded jersey in garish horizontal black and yellow stripes with a cartoonish wasp emblazoned on the front. His suit pants were tucked into knee-high boots of some dark green leather that Harry’d never seen before.

“Boy, these two men are here from the government to talk to you about some competition that you’ve entered,” Uncle Vernon glared.

Harry started, whirling around so that soap suds flicked onto the kitchen floor. “But Mrs Jensen only gave me the form about it today! And I wasn’t going to enter, I swear.”

“Who’s Mrs Jensen?” Aunt Petunia asked sweetly, an act that Harry knew was for their visitors.

“My art teacher,” Harry replied.

“No, no, we’re not here about an art competition,” the tall, thin man stated. He faced Harry fully then and stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Mister Potter, it is an honour to finally meet you.”

Snatching up a dish towel, Harry wiped his hands before gingerly taking the proffered hand. “Uh, thanks.”

“Oh, of course, we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? Very remiss of us,” the thin man gave a thin-lipped smile. “My name is Bartemius Crouch and this is my colleague, Ludo Bagman. And we aren’t here about an art competition.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Ludo Bagman said jollily, pumping Harry’s arm.

Uncle Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly what department in the government are you from?”

Mister Crouch turned so that he was facing the larger man.

“I am the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation …”

“OUT!” Uncle Vernon roared. “I’ll not have you freaks in my house pretending to be from the government!”

“But we are from the government,” Mister Crouch protested. “We’re from the Ministry of Magic.”

That was enough for Uncle Vernon to start getting physical. Two meaty paws slammed into the front of the tall thin man, pushing him back a number of quick steps.

“Here now, stop that!” Ludo Bagman snapped.

“This is my house and I’ll do whatever I please in it!” Uncle Vernon shot back. “Now, get out!”

“But it’s vitally important that we speak to you and Mister Potter,” Mister Crouch protested. “He could lose his magic if we don’t.”

Suddenly Uncle Vernon froze, a gleam in his eye. “The boy could lose his freakishness?”

“Yes,” Mister Crouch huffed.

“How?” Uncle Vernon asked pleasantly.

“We’ve just come from Hogwarts,” Ludo Bagman replied. “You know what Hogwarts is, don’t you?”

A short sharp nod of a head indicated that they all knew.

“Well, the three largest magical schools in Europe have gathered there and they’re holding a competition, the TriWizard Tournament. That’s why I’m involved. I’m the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” Ludo Bagman stated.

“What’s that got to do with the boy losing his … thingy,” Uncle Vernon near growled, most likely, Harry thought at so many uses of the hated ‘m’ word in his house.

“Yes, well,” Mister Crouch continued. “Each school is to be represented by a single champion in the Tournament. And tonight was the choosing ceremony. However, the Goblet of Fire, the magical artefact that chooses the champions, for some reason that we can’t explain at the moment, chose _four_ champions this evening.”

Four pairs of eyes swivelled to the dark haired boy leaning up against the kitchen sink, soap suds still sitting just below his elbows.

“What? Me? _I_ was chosen?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Right in one, Harry, my boy,” Ludo replied, smiling widely enough to nearly split his face in two.

“You said something about the boy losing his freakishness?” Uncle Vernon prompted.

“Yes, of course,” Mister Crouch nodded with a frown. “When Mister Potter’s name emerged from the Goblet of Fire, it created a magical contract between him and the Goblet in relation to the TriWizard Champion.”

“How is that possible?” Harry asked. “I didn’t put my name in in the first place.”

Ludo Bagman shrugged a large shoulder. “No one quite understands that, but rules are rules, right Barty?”

“Indeed, they are,” Mister Crouch replied.

“You still haven’t explained how the boy gets to lose … it,” Uncle Vernon persisted, more than a touch of annoyance in his voice.

“The fact that a magical contract has been enacted between Mister Potter and the Goblet of Fire means that Mister Potter is now a TriWizard Champion. Being a TriWizard Champion means that he must compete in each of the three tasks that make up the Tournament or he will forfeit his magic,” Mister Crouch explained.

“So, you see, young Harry here has to come with us back to Hogwarts,” Ludo finished gleefully.

“No,” Uncle Vernon stated emphatically.

“No?” Mister Crouch repeated, blinking rapidly in obvious startlement.

“No,” Uncle Vernon repeated. “We’ve been trying to stamp out the boy’s freakishness for years. We even managed to put a stop to him going off to that freak school when those damn letters came three years ago. And if this Tournament … thingy … is going to get rid of his freakishness for good, then there’s no way that either his aunt or I are going to let the boy compete.”

“You can’t be serious,” Mister Crouch replied, sharing a glance with his slack-jawed companion. “You _want_ Mister Potter to lose his magic?”

“Too right we do,” Uncle Vernon stated, his eyes gleaming in anticipation.

“But … but he’s Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived,” Ludo Bagman stated, pointing at Harry.

“What?” Harry asked as a vague memory of a large man, a dingy pub and crowds of people burst from his memory.

“The Boy Who What?” Uncle Vernon spluttered.

“The-Boy-Who-Lived,” Ludo Bagman repeated. “Harry’s a very important figure in the magical world.”

“Mister Potter must compete,” Mister Crouch stated.

“I don’t care if he’s the Queen of England,” Uncle Vernon snapped back. “The fact is that his Aunt and I are his guardians and we get to say what the boy can and can’t do. And we say that he’s going nowhere near that abnormal competition or that freakish school of yours. And if that means that he’ll finally lose his freakishness for good, well, that’s just a bonus, isn’t it?”

“But …” Ludo began to protest before he was cut off by Uncle Vernon.

“Now, if that’s all that you had to say, I’ll ask you to leave.”

After sharing a glance with each other, Mister Crouch gave Harry a nod before the two men turned and headed back the way that they’d come.

Harry was still standing facing the kitchen door, his thoughts frozen and whirling with everything that he’d just heard at the same time when his uncle re-entered the room.

“Don’t just stand there, boy, get your chores done,” Uncle Vernon growled.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied automatically before turning back to the sink and the dirty plates awaiting him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Welcome to Adulthood

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:15am_

_Tuesday, 1 November 1994_

_Office of the Minister for Magic, London_

.

“Barty! I didn’t expect to see you here this morning,” an exuberant Minister for Magic declared as his Head of Department for International Magical Cooperation appeared in his doorway.

“Good morning, Minister,” Bartemius replied. “I must admit that I did not expect to be here either.”

“We had a bit of problem with young Harry,” Ludo Bagman clarified as he entered the office behind his colleague. “How are you this morning, Cornelius?”

“I’m fine, fine,” Minister Fudge replied, indicating the seats in front of his desk for  the two men. “A bit of a problem, you say?”

“Indeed, Minister,” Bartemius replied. “It was just as Dumbledore predicted.”

“Those relatives of young Harry’s are really something, let me tell you,” Ludo agreed. “Especially that uncle of his.”

“Did you get to speak to the boy at all?” Cornelius asked, leaning forward on his desk.

“A brief greeting,” Bartemius replied, “otherwise the uncle dominated the conversation.”

“And I take it Harry’s uncle isn’t inclined to allow the boy to compete?” Cornelius asked.

Ludo shook his head. “Not in the slightest. Seemed to find the whole idea that young Harry could lose his magic as something to get excited about.”

“And you couldn’t convince him otherwise, I take it?” Cornelius asked hopefully.

“No, Minister,” Bartemius replied flatly. “Once he had ordered us from his home, there was nothing that we could do. I do know the law, after all.”

“Yes, yes, quite so,” Cornelius allowed. “Very disappointing. But if we allow young Mister Potter to lose his magic, the public will crucify us. Did you get much reaction from Harry at all? What’s he like?”

“The boy was doing dishes like a common house elf, Cornelius!” Ludo declared indignantly. “He hardly said a word, either. And judging by the looks his uncle was giving him, I suspect that speaking out of turn is probably highly discouraged in that household. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was violently so.”

“Now we can’t have that,” Cornelius stated emphatically. “The-Boy-Who-Lived treated like a house elf. Is there nothing that we can do to get the boy out of that situation?”

“Mister Potter is with his legal guardians,” Bartemius stated, “they have complete control and say over his life.”

“Barty’s right, Minister,” Ludo agreed. “While young Harry’s still underage, his aunt and uncle won’t let him have anything to do with the magical world. Not that it’ll matter in three weeks’ time. Once he fails to show up and compete in the TriWizard, the Goblet’ll strip him of his magic.”

Cornelius tapped his fingers on his desk, thinking hard about what his two department heads were telling him.

“Sirius Black’s the boy’s godfather isn’t he?” he mused. “Could we get Harry’s guardianship transferred to him?”

“Not within the required framework that’ll keep the boy from losing his magic,” Bartemius replied.

“Why not?” Cornelius snapped. “After that debacle with Black earlier this year, the public would lap up him getting to be Harry’s guardian.”

“True, Minister, however you’re forgetting that as part of our reparations to Mister Black, we agreed to pay for his rehabilitation in Saint Mungo’s. My understanding is that the Healers want him to have a minimum of six months treatment for his mental and physical conditions before they’ll allow him to re-join society. And it’s only been four months,” Baremius stated.

Once again Cornelius drummed his fingers on his desktop.

“The boy has no other relatives?” he asked.

“None close enough.”

“I wonder,” Cornelius murmured as a mad idea occurred.

“If Harry Potter was given the choice of whether or not to compete in the Tournament, do you think that he would do it?” Cornelius asked slowly. “I mean, if the choice was completely up to him.”

Ludo looked at his colleague before shrugging. “Possibly. We weren’t able to get much of a read on the boy when we were there, as we said. He definitely seemed interested in what we were saying, though.”

With a decisive nod of his head, Cornelius looked towards his office door. “Colleen, can you get Madam Bones in here ASAP?”

As the sound of retreating footsteps could be heard, Ludo questioned the Minister. “What do you want Amelia for? I can’t see how arresting Harry’s aunt and uncle is going to help.”

“I don’t want to arrest them,” Cornelius said, shaking his head. “I just had an idea of how we can get Harry to make the decision for himself and, if what you’ve told me is correct, then it might just give us a bit of an edge with the boy at the same time.”

Smiling happily to himself at his cleverness, Cornelius sat back in his chair and waited for his Head of Magical Law Enforcement to appear. Thankfully, he didn’t have long to wait.

“You wanted to see me, Cornelius?” Amelia Bones asked.

Cornelius smiled up at the imposing witch standing in his doorway. She was one of the most serious witches that he knew and her appearance, with her square-jaw and close-cropped grey hair only emphasised it. The monocle that she had attached to her right eye always gave him the appearance that she could see more than she ever let on, leaving him permanently nervous in her presence, but for all that, she was one of the best department heads that he had at his service.

“Come in, come in, Amelia,” he invited, waving her towards the last unoccupied seat in front of his desk.

After giving the three department heads the chance to greet each other, Cornelius got down to business.

“Now, Amelia, I assume that you know about the TriWizard Tournament?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“And have you heard about the little … hiccup that occurred at the Choosing Ceremony last night?” he asked.

Amelia spared a glance at the two men beside her, her lips narrowed in displeasure. “No, I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“Well, it seems that the Goblet of Fire, for some reason, spat out _four_ names instead of three,” Cornelius told her.

“I’ll begin an investigation into that immediately,” Amelia declared, conjuring a quill and parchment to begin taking notes. “Who was named as the fourth Champion?”

“Harry Potter.”

Amelia’s eyes widened so much at that announcement that her monocle promptly fell out, only to get half-way to her lap before magically reversing course and returning to its former position in front of her eye.

“Harry Potter?” she clarified.

“Indeed,” Cornelius confirmed. “We’ve got no idea how his name got into the Goblet in the first place, but that’s not our main concern right at this moment.”

“What in Merlin’s name could be more concerning than The-Boy-Who-Lived’s name coming out of the Goblet of Fire? A vessel that he had absolutely no way of entering his name into in the first place?” she asked incredulously.

“The fact that his guardians are failing to allow him to compete,” Bartemius stated.

“But … but if he doesn’t compete … that would mean that he would …” Amelia stuttered at the implications.

Cornelius nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Harry Potter is in very real danger of losing his magic.”

“And you say that his guardians are refusing to allow him to compete?” Amelia clarified.

“Barty and I visited them last night,” Ludo told her. “They seemed quite happy at the prospect of Harry losing his magic.”

Amelia shook her head. “It was bad enough that they didn’t allow him to go to Hogwarts, but this … I take it you have something in mind?”

Cornelius smiled. He knew that Amelia would be able to piece things together quickly.

“Between you and Barty, you know the law better than anyone,” Cornelius began. “Tell me, what would the implications be if we emancipated Harry Potter?”

Amelia, Ludo and Bartemius shared stunned looks between them before smiles slowly began to form on two of those three faces, Bartemius Crouch, after all, hadn’t smiled for any reason in nigh on a decade.

“Legally, he’d be declared an adult,” Bartemius stated, “subject to all of the laws of anyone of age. He’d have full wand rights, be eligible for an apparition licence, the works.”

“I can’t see there being any issue with the goblins,” Ludo put in. “They’d make sure that he received access to any vaults that he was eligible for.”

“The fact that we changed the rules of the TriWizard Tournament so that only those of age were able to compete could be used as an argument to the fact that the Ministry has already declared Mister Potter as being ‘of age’,” Bartemius mused. “I’m not sure exactly how successful the debater would be in a court setting, but it is an interesting point.”

“As far as my department is concerned, the only issue that I could think of is the fact that we’d have a fourteen year old able to do magic without having had any training,” Amelia commented.

“I suspect that if we offered young Harry a way to get away from those relatives of his, we could get him to agree to the small condition of needing to at least pass a certain minimum number of OWLS, if not NEWTS as well,” Cornelius said.

Amelia nodded her head. “If Mister Potter needs to be at Hogwarts for the Tournament anyway, I don’t think that that would be a problem.”

“I doubt that Headmaster Dumbledore would have a problem with arranging a special curriculum for Mister Potter,” Bartemius hypothesised.

“Right, then, seems like we all agree on the idea in principle,” Cornelius declared, rubbing his hand together. “What do we need to do to make this happen?”

“Normally, this sort of thing is handled as a petition to the Wizengamot,” Bartemius related, “however, five department heads or three department heads and the Minister of Magic could complete the forms and sign off on the decision without the Wizengamot’s involvement.”

“Really?” Cornelius beamed. “Oh, and would you look at that? I just so happen to be the Minister for Magic and I have three department heads here right now.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_3:35pm_

_Tuesday, 1 November 1994_

_Stonewall High, Surrey_

_._

Shoving his notebook, pens and text into his bag any old how, Harry slowly rose to his feet, groaning as he did so. Late nights plus a full school day were never a good combination. He knew that. Actually, he knew this feeling very well indeed, especially after a day when Uncle Vernon had come home slightly drunk and increased his chore list tenfold.

But the previous night’s lack of sleep had nothing to do with Uncle Vernon. Well, to be honest, it _did_ in a way. As soon as Harry’s head had hit his pillow, his brain went into overdrive, firstly replaying the visit by the two wizards after dinner and then with the thought of what was going to happen to him.

Sometime soon, he was going to lose his magic. To be honest, it wasn’t that big of a deal. As the years had progressed, he’d hardly ever done any. The last truly accidental bout of magic that he’d performed was two summers ago when Dudley and his friends had been chasing him across the park. They’d nearly trapped him between the trees and the fence when four of the fence palings had suddenly disappeared giving him an avenue of escape.

That didn’t mean that that was the last time that Harry had used magic. No, not in the slightest. Knowing what caused the weird, freakish things that happened around him was caused by, Harry had taken to trying to _make_ things happen. Nine times out of ten, nothing happened at all, no matter how much he screwed up his face and wished for it to.

But there were one or two things that he could do pretty consistently, like making things come to him when he wanted them, for example. That one was pretty handy, especially when he was in the workshop at _Keating’s_. The first time the tape measure had slid across the workbench by itself had surprised him. The second time, he’d broken out into a massive grin. And after a couple of months of practicing, he could make nearly anything fly straight into his hand, as long as he was in sight of it, at least.

The other thing that he’d learnt how to do at will was to create a small orb of light that hovered just above his outstretched palm. It was perfect when he needed to see and was too lazy to simply get out of bed and turn on the light switch. He’d even learnt how to change the light different colours.

And now, because of some stupid competition that he’d been entered into in conjunction with his Uncle’s stubbornness, he was going to lose that small part of him that still connected him to his parents. And he didn’t even know when. Obviously it’d happen when he failed to turn up to the first part of the tournament, but he hadn’t thought to ask when that was. It could be tomorrow or next week or next month, but whenever it was, he’d lose his magic forever.

Glad that the school day was finally over, Harry trudged towards the front doors of Stonewall High. He still had a three hour shift to put in at _Keating’s_ , then his usual chores and an Ancient History assignment to finish before he could finally crash. He suspected that tonight was going to be another late one.

A pair of vaguely familiar figures standing just outside the school gates, one in a crisp business suit, the other wearing that same old faded yellow and black jersey, caused Harry to near stumble. Tucking his sketch pad under his arm while hitching up his backpack allowed him to scrub his tired eyes with both hands. Obviously his tired mind had caused him to hallucinate the two wizards from last night to a place where they had absolutely no place being.

Dropping his hands, his eyes widened at the fact that the two men were still there. Cautiously, he started walking again, his eyes fixed on the odd pair. It was obvious the second that they saw him. The yellow and black shirted one, Bagman, Harry thought his name was, nudged the other and pointed him out.

The thinner man – Creech, er, Crutch, no, he knew that wasn’t right, but for the life of him, Harry couldn’t remember what the man’s name was – nodded and led the way towards him.

“Mister Potter? We were wondering if we could have a word?” the one who could be Creature asked.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got work in half an hour and if I miss my bus now, there’s no way that I could get there in time,” Harry explained with a shake of his head.

“That won’t be a problem, Mister Potter,” the man replied.

“We can get you there in a blink of an eye,” Bagman whispered, leaning close.

Harry eyed them suspiciously before deciding simply to be polite. “Look, I’d really like to hear what you’ve got to say, but if I’m late and my Uncle finds out, he’ll kill me.”

“I understand, Mister Potter,” the thin man replied. “Let me just say that if you like what we have to say and if you agree, then you’ll never have to listen to your aunt or uncle again.”

 _That_ pulled Harry up short.

“What do you mean?” he asked quickly.

“This really isn’t the best place to talk,” possibly Crotch stated, deliberately looking around at the dozens of high schoolers milling around. “Is there somewhere a bit more … private that we could go?”

“Well, there’s the park just up the road,” Harry suggested slowly. Then, “and you’re sure that you can get me to work so I won’t be late?”

“Positive, Harry,” Bagman smiled.

“Alright, then,” Harry agreed, before hitching up his bag once more and leading the two men through the crowd and up the street.

“This looks perfect,” Bagman stated as Harry led them to a small table and chairs to the side of the park.

Harry watched, intrigued, as Bagman then pulled out his wand and gave it a couple of discrete but deliberate waves.

“Just some privacy charms,” the man who could be name Crone explained seeing Harry’s interest. “Muggle-repelling, notice-me-not and a muffling charm.”

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry addressed the man. “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.”

“Bartemius Crouch, Head of International Magical Cooperation,” he said, “and my colleague, Ludo Bagman, Head of Magical Games and Sports.”

Crouch. Yes, now that he’d heard it, he remembered it.

“You said something about me never having to listen to my aunt and uncle again?” Harry prompted, very aware of the time.

“Indeed, Mister Potter,” Mister Crouch replied. “We have an offer for you that would allow you to do exactly that, but I must warn you that it comes with some consequences.”

“Perhaps if we go through it all as thoroughly as we can and then you can make your decision,” Bagman grinned, “although I bet that I can already pick what it’ll be.”

Harry waved a hand indicating that they should get on with it.

“As you will remember from last night, your name came out of the Goblet of Fire forcing you into a magically binding contract to either compete in the TriWizard Tournament or you will lose your magic,” Crouch began.

“I still don’t understand that,” Harry stated, shaking his head. “How did my name get in there anyway? And how can I be locked into this contract without signing something first?”

“To be honest, we’re not sure,” Bagman grimaced. “The Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, has opened an investigation into exactly those questions. As for the binding contract, the best our legal team has been able to come up with is the fact that somehow your magical signature was planted on to the parchment that came out of the Goblet and it is _that_ signature that the Goblet has latched on to.”

“Madam Bones will be speaking to you within the next couple of days,” Crouch told him, “and I’m certain that she’ll keep you up to date with her investigation.”

Harry nodded, not quite understanding but simply putting it down to some magic hoo-doo and making a mental note to compile a list of questions for this ‘Madam Bones’ person later.

“As you also know, your guardians – your aunt and uncle – have stated that you won’t be competing in the TriWizard Tournament,” Crouch continued. “That means that when the First Task happens on the twenty-fourth of this month, you will lose your magic.”

“But we’ve come up with a way around that, if you agree, that is,” Bagman grinned.

“There’s a way not to lose my magic?” Harry asked eagerly. “Whatever it is, I agree!”

Bagman and Crouch shared a look before Crouch turned back and held up a single hand.

“While we hope that you will agree, it is only prudent of us to ensure that you are fully aware of all of the consequences of you agreeing to this line of action, before you, as they say, sign on the dotted line,” he stated.

“What we’re proposing is that you become emancipated,” Bagman stated.

“That means that you will become an adult, at least in the magical world,” Crouch clarified, “with all of the rights, privileges and penalties that that entails.”

“Penalties?” Harry asked suspiciously.

Bagman waved away Harry’s concerns with an errant hand. “That’s only if you ever run afoul of the law. The main point is that you will get to make all of your own decisions for yourself – where you live, what schooling or jobs you do, not to mention looking after your own finances.”

“And deciding whether or not I compete in this Tournament of yours,” Harry finished for him.

“Exactly, Mister Potter,” Crouch nodded.

“What’s the catch?” Harry asked after a half-minute of thought and a narrowing of his eyes.

“The catch, as you put it,” Crouch replied, “is that being an adult within the Wizarding world carries some responsibilities. Most importantly, knowing how to use your magic safely, which includes using your wand and apparition.”

“And to learn those skills, we will need you to go to Hogwarts and learn how to control your magic,” Bagman finished.

Harry stared at the wizards. It all sounded good. In theory. But there were one or two things that he wanted sorted out before he ‘signed on the dotted line’.

“I was supposed to go to Hogwarts three years ago,” Harry told them slowly. “Being three years older than the kids that I’ll be learning with doesn’t sound like fun.”

“No, I can’t imagine that it does,” Bagman replied. “That’s why we’ve already talked to Headmaster Dumbledore about offering you a specialized, individual, accelerated program until you can catch up with the people your own age.”

“That’ll still take a couple of years,” Crouch warned, “but we imagine that you’ll be able to sit your NEWTs with them in four years’ time, and maybe even your OWLS in some classes at the end of next year.”

From the vague memories that Harry had of the books that he’d bought for the last time that he was supposed to go to Hogwarts, he had the impression that normal subjects might not be taught there and while he had no problems with ditching maths, he’d be little disappointed in leaving behind Ancient History and there was no way that he wanted to drop either Art of Woodworking.

With a small shake of his head, he put those questions aside for the moment. The chance of getting away from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia for good could be worth it.

“Alright, tell me more about this Tournament,” Harry asked.

“Well, the TriWizard Tournament is being held at Hogwarts and is being contested by the three largest magic schools in Europe – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; The Durmstrang Institute; and Beauxbatons Academie of Magic,” Bagman replied. “Each school is represented by one champion and they compete in three magical tasks.”

“Wait a minute,” Harry said, holding up one hand. “If each school already has a champion and if I’m the _fourth_ champion, where does that leave me?”

Bagman and Crouch shared a look before Bagman shrugged.

“Well, once you join Hogwarts, I guess that you’ll be Hogwarts’ second champion.”

Harry shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no. No way am I going into a brand new school and saying ‘hi, I’m new here and I just happen to also be your second champion’. Everyone at the school with resent me, the _other_ schools will kick up a massive stink and the other three Champions, _especially_ the one from Hogwarts will _hate_ me.”

“Do you have another solution, Mister Potter?” Crouch asked lightly.

Harry dropped his head, allowing his bangs to cover his face as he thought. His eyes roamed the tabletop before latching onto the old, faded, fraying badge on the oversized, grey-dyed jumper that he was wearing. Slowly, he brought his head up and looked each of the wizards in the eye, one after the other.

“I’ll represent Stonewall High,” he said simply.

“But … a … a _muggle_ school?” Crouch spluttered.

“They’d never know that you’re representing them,” Bagman protested. “Even if you did well, they’d never hear of it. Besides, once you join Hogwarts, you’d have to drop out of your muggle school.”

Harry’s eyes hardened. “Then I simply won’t join Hogwarts until _after_ the Tournament. Like I said, there’s no way I’m going into the school and trying to throw my weight around. _This_ thing,” he said, tapping his forehead where his scar was _,_ “will make things bad enough if my memories of that day in the pub with Hagrid is anything to go on.”

Bagman stared at Harry a long time before he looked at his colleague. “It might work.”

“Hopefully we can make Dumbledore agree,” Crouch replied.

“Now, you said that there’re three magical tasks?” Harry said, wanting to move the conversation along, conscious of the time.

“That’s right.”

“And the first one’s in just over three weeks’ time?” Harry clarified.

“Yes,” Bagman nodded.

“Then how in the world am I supposed to compete in that?” he asked incredulously.

“To be honest, Harry, no one expects you to win. Frankly, it’d be impossible, even if you had been at Hogwarts for the past three years,” Bagman told him. “All you really have to do is just put in a showing. Just enough to ensure that the Goblet knows that you tried, is all you need to do.”

“Okay, I think that I can do that,” Harry sighed in relief.

“So what do you say, Mister Potter? Do you agree to the emancipation and to then come to Hogwarts and to compete in the TriWizard Tournament?” Mister Crouch asked.

From the instant that Harry’d heard that there was a way to get out from under his aunt and uncle, he’d known what his answer was going to be. He was sure that he still didn’t completely understand everything that it meant, but he understood enough for now.

“Yes. Yes, I agree,” he stated firmly.

With a nod of his head, Crouch reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a wad of parchment that looked too big to have been able to fit inside it. From a different pocket, he pulled out a short black quill.

“In that case, you simply need to sign these documents,” he explained. “There are, I believe, four places in which you must sign. This,” he said, tapping the quill, “is called a blood quill. It is used exclusively for the most official of documents, which includes this one. What it does is that it uses your own blood as ink. You will feel a slight scratching on the back of your hand, but with only four signatures, the discomfort will be very slight.”

Harry eyed the quill warily before hesitantly reaching out and picking it up. Using his other hand, he spun the parchment around and began to skim read it. It was exactly as the two government wizards had described. He noticed that at the bottom of each of the four pages, four signatures had already been affixed.

Gritting his teeth, Harry affixed the end of the quill to the line with his name on it and signed away. As he’d been warned, he felt a slight scratching on the back of his hand. Staring at it, he saw a perfect replica of his signature briefly appear before it faded away. Determining to get it over and done as quickly as possible, Harry flipped to, and signed, each of the other three pages.

The instant that he finished signing for the fourth time, the whole document glowed a brilliant gold before two identical copies of the parchment appeared, one to either side of the original.

“Well done, Mister Potter,” Crouch nodded. “Now, this copy goes to Ministry records,” and with a tap of his wand, the copy to the left promptly disappeared. “This set I return to the Minister,” the original document was returned to his inside jacket pocket, “and this copy is for you.”

Picking up the last sheaf of parchment, Mister Crouch handed them to Harry before shaking his hand.

Bagman, too, reached across the table and shook his hand as well.

“Welcome to adulthood, Harry,” Bagman beamed.


	4. Unexpected Present

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_4:05pm_

_Tuesday, 1 November 1994_

_Park near Stonewall High, Surrey_

_._

_“Welcome to adulthood, Harry,” Bagman beamed, shaking Harry’s hand._

Glancing at his watch, Harry let loose an exasperated growl.

“Sheesh, I’m late for work!” he exploded. “You guys said that you could get me there instantly? Well, now’s the time to do it.”

Bartemius Crouch’s raised hand froze him as he half-stood from the bench seat.

“In a moment, Mister Potter,” the wizard said. “Firstly we’ll need to get you to show us where it is on this map.” A map materialised from an outside pocket of his jacket. “But you may want to take a moment to think about things before you go rushing off.”

“What things?” Harry snapped.

“The fact that you’re about to leave Surrey to go to Hogwarts,” Crouch replied. “You will need to quit your job.”

Dropping back into his seat, Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re right. I am going to have to quit, aren’t I?”

“Not to mention do a spot of shopping,” Bagman suggested. “At the very least you’ll need school supplies and, if I might suggest it, some new clothes?”

Harry’s eyes dropped to survey the old clothes of Dudley’s that his Aunt Petunia had dyed for him before sewing on the badge that adorned his jumper. The man was right. He _did_ need new clothes. Suddenly an image of a small gold key dropping into the bottom of the cavity under his floorboards blossomed into his mind.

“I’m going to need money for that,” Harry said slowly before looking up. “I’ve still got the key to my vault at home.”

“That’ll be a help,” Bagman beamed. “As will this.”

Harry’s eyes shifted to the envelope that Crouch had just placed between them. With a quizzical look at the two wizards, Harry picked it up and opened it. Its thickness was explained the instant that he looked inside it. His head snapped up, piercing the wizards in his gaze.

“A little something from the Ministry of Magic for the … disruption that this is causing in your life,” Crouch explained.

“How much is in here?” Harry asked sotto voce.

“A thousand muggle pounds,” Bagman beamed. “Should be enough for some new clothes. And it matches this.”

_This_ was apparently a small bag of large gold coins.

“Two hundred galleons,” Bagman stated, giving the combined answer of how much was in there and what the coins were called before Harry could ask.

With more money than Harry had ever seen in his life, if he discounted the mountain of gold inside the vault that his parents had left him, his mind suddenly went blank.

“We understand that this is a little overwhelming,” Mister Crouch said gently, “but we really are on a tight schedule. We can give you the rest of today and tomorrow to get your affairs in order. The day after, you must be at Hogwarts.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said slowly, trying to get the thoughts that had gone from nothing to a thousand miles a second back under control. “How will I be getting around?”

“We are available to escort you for the remainder of today, but tonight we’d recommend that you stay at the Leaky Cauldron,” Crouch replied. “That way you’ll be able to do what you need to do at your own pace in Diagon Alley tomorrow.”

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Harry mused. “That’s a … pub, isn’t it?”

“And a boarding house,” Bagman confirmed.

“Right then, I can think of a few things that we’ll need to do here in Surrey before you take me to London,” Harry stated, coming to a decision.

His head turned to the left as he looked down the road towards his high school. Another glance at his watch decided him on his course of action.

“If you can take me to _Keating’s_ , that’d be a good place to start,” Harry said, reaching for the map. “But we won’t be there long; just enough time for me to quit face to face. After that, I’ll need to come back here.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_4:15pm_

_Tuesday, 1 November 1994_

Keating’s Wood n Furniture _Workshop, Surrey_

_._

“You’re late,” a gruff voice noted the instant that Harry had stepped into the workshop.

“I know,” Harry replied, looking across the room to note that Sid had already ducked back under the cabinet that he was currently building. “Do you know where Terry is?”

“Office, I think,” Sid replied without emerging.

“Thanks,” Harry replied.

Setting off to the left and the tiny office half-hidden behind bins full of off-cut pieces of timber, Harry noted the dual pair of footsteps following him. Reaching the door, he rapped on the frame.

“Hey, Terry, you got a minute?” he called.

Terry looked up from the books spread over the surface of his desk. Throwing his pen down, he gave a weary grin.

“You betcha, Harry. Anything to get me away from doing up these accounts.”

Stepping into the room, Harry took in his boss. The man was big, easily as big as Uncle Vernon, but where his uncle was made of fat, Terry was all muscle. Even without trying, the simplest movement of his arms flexed considerable muscles. Numerous white scars littered his arms and hands from his decades of working in the business. If Harry didn’t actually know him so well, he would have been terrified of the man and the dark bushy beard that covered most of his face only emphasised how dangerous he looked.

But that wasn’t who Terry was. Harry knew him as a kind man, if a bit rough at times, but that was simply a by-product of working upwards of fourteen hours a day, seven days a week with men just as rough as he was. It was his eyes that really gave him away. The lines that surrounded his dark brown eyes were made from the full-bodied belly laughs that he seemed to be capable of at a drop of a hat.

When Harry’d first been brought to the workshop by his Uncle all those years ago, he’d been terrified. He had no idea what to expect, especially after being told that he was an old friend of Uncle Vernon’s. But it had never been bad. Terry, along with Sid, Pete and Old Angus had all taken him under their wings, showing him the ropes of working in a carpentry workshop.

He’d started with simply sweeping and moving pieces of wood from one place to another. Before long, though, he was being taught about what it took to work as a carpenter. And the day that Harry’d come in and told them that he’d signed up for woodworking at school, they’d fought to be the ones to teach him everything that they knew.

Terry, Sid and Pete spent the most time with him, showing him the secrets of how to use all of the tools, from the sanders to planes, chisels to bevels and even the correct way to apply lacquer. Old Angus took a different approach. From him, Harry learnt more of the old ways, how to do things without power tools and interestingly enough, how to carve, or whittle as the old man called it, small animals out of off-cut pieces of wood.

“Got some friends with you today?” Terry noted, nodding at the two men that had followed Harry into the small office.

“Uh, yeah. This is Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman,” Harry introduced, indicating each man. “They’re the reason that I’m a bit late. And the reason that I’m going to have to quit.”

Terry’s eyebrows, never easy to see at the best of times under his unruly mop of greying hair, completely disappeared. “Quit, you say? Now how can these two gentlemen make you do that?”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve been given a scholarship to a, uh, a private school in Scotland,” Harry replied, giving the best reason that he’d been able to come up with in such a short space of time.

Terry eyed the men speculatively before turning his gaze onto Harry. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but I wouldn’t have thought your grades were good enough for that. Unless it’s an art scholarship? _That_ I might be able to believe.”

“The scholarship was set up by young Harry’s parents,” Mister Crouch stated. “After their death, when Harry went to his aunt and uncle, we lost track of him and have only just managed to find him again.”

“This is something that you want to do? You’re not being pressured?” Terry asked intently.

Harry shook his head. “No, no pressure. I … I want to go. It’s where my parents went to school …”

Terry reached out and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder after he trailed off.

“We’ll be sorry to lose you. You’re a good worker, Harry,” Terry stated. “At least tell me you’ll continue your woodworking classes.”

“I’m afraid that Hogwarts doesn’t offer woodworking as a subject,” Mister Crouch stated.

“Now that’s a crying shame,” Terry frowned. “You’ll be letting all of those talents go to waste.”

A thought seemed to occur to him them for he leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the men standing in the doorway.

“Does your school have any space where a workshop could be set up for Harry to work if’n he had the wood and tools?”

Crouch and Bagman shared a look before Mister Crouch carefully answered.

“While it is possible that space could be arranged, Mister Potter wouldn’t have any access to … to elec ... electric-ity,”

“No power, huh,” Terry seemed to muse before turning back to Harry. “When’ll you be heading off?”

“I’ve got to be up at the school the day after tomorrow, seeing how far into term we already are,” Harry replied.

“You’ll still be at Vernon’s tomorrow, then?”

Harry shook his head. “No, there’s a bit that I’ll have to do in London tomorrow, so Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman have arranged to take me there tonight.”

“What time do you reckon that you’ll head off?”

Harry did some quick calculations in his head. “I want to do a bit of shopping here, not to mention I’ll need to collect my school records from Stonewall High and then pick up my stuff from Privet Drive. Maybe eight?”

Once again Terry hit the men in his doorway with a piercing look. “You’ll be taking him up by truck, I presume.”

“Uh, yes, yes, of course,” Mister Bagman declared, although if Harry had to guess, he’d say that the wizard had no idea what a ‘truck’ actually was.

“Good, good,” Terry nodded. “Well, we’ll be sorry to see you go, Harry. Make sure you come back for the holidays; we’ll always have work here for you.”

“Thanks, Terry,” Harry smiled, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “Can … can you tell the others that I said ‘good-bye’? And thanks, thanks for everything.”

“It was our pleasure, Harry,” Terry said.

Then, with one heartfelt handshake and a last nod, Harry turned and walked from the workshop, hoping that it wasn’t the last time that he was doing so.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:50pm_

_Tuesday, 1 November 1994_

_4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_

_._

Slipping in the back door, Harry took a careful look around.

_Good,_ he sighed, _no sign of them._

As quickly as he could, he eased the door shut behind him. The small _click_ of the latch engaging was the only sound to be heard and Harry was sure that it was too soft for anyone else to hear.

On tiptoe he slunk through the kitchen, passed his old cupboard and sidled up to the doorway to the living room. The sound of the blaring television alerted him to the fact that at least one of his relatives was in there. Sliding further along the wall, he eased his head out, just far enough to peek in.

Sitting in his usual armchair, one hand wrapped around the glass that was balanced on his enormous stomach, was his uncle, his eyes glued to the quiz show. His aunt, he noticed, was in the matching chair. Neither had noticed that he was there.

Softly, he ghosted across the opening, glad that he’d had the foresight to leave his new trainers outside the back door – feet only covered in socks made so much less noise. From there he slipped up the stairs towards his room, careful to keep his feet as close to the wall as possible where the joints were the most secure and the wood was least likely to creak with his weight.

With a sigh of relief, Harry reached his room undetected. Leaving the door open behind him, he systematically began gathering his things.

A small pile of books, sketch pads and other art supplies were gathered from his desk and dumped on his bed. A single look in the cupboard and a shake of his head was all that it took for him to abandon all of Dudley’s old cast-offs that had been deemed ‘worthy enough for a freak’. But then, he knew that he had no need for clothes, not after the last couple of hours.

The myriad of shrunken packages in his old school bag now attested to that fact. If he’d still harboured any doubt about the existence of magic, then seeing Mister Crouch take the dozens of shopping bags from him and tap them with his wand, shrinking them to the size of a matchbook dispelled them instantly.

Those few miniature bags represented what would eventually be his very first wardrobe full of clothes exactly his size and included everything from new Stonewall High uniforms to pants, shirts, jackets, shoes and even underwear and pyjamas. All it would apparently take is a second tap from Mister Crouch’s wand to return them to regular size once they were in London later that night.

Dropping to the floor, Harry removed the floorboards that hid his secret stash. There, he’d kept the half dozen animals that he’d carved under Old Angus’ tutelage, as well as the couple of certificates that he’d earned from school and the most important thing of all: a tiny golden key that he’d been given more than three years ago.

As quickly as he could, he loaded his school bag with everything that he wanted to take. Then, after slinging it over one shoulder, he started to retrace his steps back towards the back yard and thence on to a Dursely-free future.

The ringing of the doorbell froze Harry as he was about to slip past the living room once more.

A groan of frustration escaped him as he heard his uncle rocking his bulk out of the armchair. Seeing no other option open to him, Harry took the couple of steps backwards and answered the door.

“Terry?” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi Harry. The boys and I wanted to give you a going away present,” the big man explained.

“What? A going away present? The boy’s not going anywhere,” Uncle Vernon exclaimed confusedly from behind him.

Terry looked at Harry, confusion written all over his face. “But Harry said …”

Harry hurriedly cut in. “Could you just give us one minute, Terry.”

Ducking hurriedly, Harry quick-stepped past his uncle and then his aunt who was now standing in the living room doorway and entered the kitchen, confident that his relatives were following.

“What does he mean you’re leaving?” Uncle Vernon hissed.

Knowing how close he was to leaving Privet Drive for the last time, a touch of bravado entered Harry’s demeanour.

“Those two wizards came and saw me after school today,” Harry began before being cut off by a growl from his uncle.

“They were told that we weren’t going to allow you to go.”

“I know,” Harry replied. “But they had another solution. One that I was very pleased to accept.”

“And what was that, boy?” Uncle Vernon growled.

“They emancipated me,” Harry simply replied. “That means that I can make my own decisions. And the very first one that I made was that I was never going to live here again.”

A gasp from his aunt caused Harry to send a curious glance in her direction, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

“And the second thing that I decided is that I’m going to go to Hogwarts and learn how to be wizard, just like my parents.”

Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “Fine then. Get out. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Make sure that you never darken our doorstep ever again.”

“With pleasure, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied before pushing his way past the man on his way back to the front door. “Oh,” he said, pausing to look back, “say goodbye to Dudley for me, won’t you?”

“Sorry about that,” Harry said to Terry as he took some deep breaths to calm himself down. “What was it you were saying?”

“I’ve brought over a going away present for you from me and the boys,” Terry repeated.

“A present?” Harry blinked. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Seemed only right,” Terry grunted. “Especially after all the hard work you put in over the years and never seeing a penny of your wages, including what you would’ve earnt from the pieces that you created and sold.”

At Terry’s gesture, Harry followed him out the door and around to the side of the house. There he froze at the sight that awaited him.

Neatly stacked alongside the wall of the house were piles of timber. Harry easily made out oak, pine, rowan, teak, mahogany, maple and a handful of others. A quick scan confirmed that there were a dozen or more quality pieces of each type. And that wasn’t all. Off to the side was an old wheelbarrow and a couple of large buckets, each filled with off-cuts of varying shapes and sizes.

It was the final item that really caused Harry’s breath to hitch, though. Sitting proudly on the grass was the elegant desk that he’d finished making the day before.

“If’n you look in the bottom left-hand drawer, Angus left you something,” Terry stated, indicating the desk.

With shaky steps, Harry moved forward and opened the indicated drawer. Inside he found a drawstring bag filled with odd pieces of different type of wood, all perfect for carving and, laying on top, a pair of new knives.

“There’s also this,” Terry said, drawing his attention once more with a kick to an old box that Harry had failed to notice. “There’s a bunch of old tools in there that we’ve been meaning to throw out. Figured that maybe you could use them.”

“Thanks, Terry, I don’t know what to say,” Harry choked out.

“Nothing to say, really. You earnt it all. Just make something beautiful out of it all,” Terry replied. “And don’t forget, if’n you ever need a job, there’s one waiting for you here.”

Terry cleared his throat then glanced around and shuffled his feet. “Better be gettin’ back, the missus will be wondering where I am. You take care, Harry.”

And with that, he was gone into the night.

Harry felt a presence come up behind him and he glanced to either side to see Mister Bagman and Mister Crouch to either side of him.

“Will I be able to take this with me?” Harry asked doubtfully.

“As easy as a tapping my wand to it,” Mister Crouch replied.

“Here,” Mister Bagman said, thrusting a piece of paper into his hand. “Tomorrow when you’re in Diagon Alley, you go to _Stanford’s Trunks_ and give this to Eli Stanford himself. He’ll take care of what you need there.”

A few minutes later, with the desk, wood and other items shrunk and placed into his now bulging schoolbag and with his new shoes retrieved, a double gunshot-like _crack_ marked Harry Potter leaving Privet Drive for what he hoped was for the very last time.


	5. Diagon Alley, Take Two

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:35am_

_Wednesday, 2 November 1994_

_The Leaky Cauldron, London_

_._

Harry Potter tucked the tiny golden key into an inner pocket of his jacket, picked up the school supply list that he’d been given the night before and exited Room Eleven of The Leaky Cauldron.

“Good mornin’, Mister Potter,” the old, stooped inn-keeper said merrily as Harry emerged. “Did ya enjoy the breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you, Tom,” Harry replied. “Would you mind opening the archway to Diagon Alley for me?”

“It’d be my pleasure, Mister Potter, my pleasure indeed.”

Harry waited quietly for Tom to round the bar before following him out into the small, walled courtyard. He focussed hard on exactly which bricks Tom tapped: he didn’t want to have to keep asking for this to be done for him.

As it had once before, so very long ago, the bricks in front of him began to wiggle before pivoting upon themselves and shifting up and back to create a massive arch leading into the most magical place that Harry’d ever seen.

Memories blossomed in his mind as he compared what he was seeing now to what his eleven year old self saw that day when he was accompanied by Hagrid.

Shops of all kinds lined each side of the alley; from ones that sold nothing but cauldrons to one that had large barrels of the most bizarre ingredients lining the area around its door. Further down the alley, the sign of _Flourish and Blotts_ , the bookstore that he remembered caught his attention. Close at hand _Florean Fortesque’s Ice-cream Parlour_ sat, customers already lined up to buy the first ice-creams of the day.

At this time of the morning, there weren’t many people out and about, but those that were were all dressed in wizard’s robes of all styles and colours. Some, he saw, even had the traditional wizard’s hat perched atop their head.

Not wanting to be recognised as ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ – who knew what kind of scene _that_ might turn into – Harry hurried down the street, intent on finding the massive white marble building from his memories.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he mounted the steps leading to the entrance. _This_ was going to be the first test of that magical document lining his pocket. With a nervous nod at the two armour clad, halberd wielding, goblins stationed to either side of the door, Harry entered.

Inside, he found an incredibly long, high teller area, staffed by a half dozen goblins, these ones wearing tiny, outdated banker’s suits. Picking one at random, Harry approached and waited to be noticed.

“What do you want?” the goblin finally asked after what Harry thought was two or three minutes of being deliberately ignored.

“Hi. I would like to speak to someone about my account details, please,” Harry nervously told the small being.

“Key, please,” the goblin intoned.

Fishing it out of his pocket, Harry handed it over.

After placing a pair on tiny pince-nez glasses on, the goblin examined the key before looking up at Harry and flicking his eyes upwards to take in Harry’s scar, the key was handed back.

“Follow me,” the goblin instructed.

Harry waited until the goblin had climbed down from his stool and begun his trek across the floor before he followed. He was led through a door into a rough-hewn stone tunnel. Wooden doors were set along the walls at irregular intervals. At the fourth on the left, the goblin stopped, looked back to check Harry was still there, then promptly rapped on the door and walked back the way that they had come.

“Come,” a gruff voice announced.

Harry slowly opened the door, stepped in and closed it behind him. Looking around, he found himself in a room that any banker would feel comfortable in. A large desk – oak, Harry quickly deduced running a professional eye over it – dominated the room. Numerous shelves filled with items were dotted on the side walls, while the rear wall was lined from floor to ceiling with filing cabinets.

“What do you want?” the goblin seated behind the desk demanded, capturing Harry’s attention.

Like his counterparts, he, too, was dressed in an outdated banker’s suit. Unlike the others, though, this one looked much older, at least the tufts of white hairs sticking out of his huge pointed ears seemed to indicate that that was the case.

“I’d like to find out about my accounts,” Harry told him.

With a wave of his hand, the goblin indicated one of the two hard-backed chairs in front of the desk.

“Key?”

Harry handed over the small golden object as he sat down.

Just as the first goblin had done, the goblin examined it minutely before placing back in front of Harry. Very deliberately the goblin raised one hand and gave three snaps of his long fingers.

Harry watched wide-eyed as a small silver bowl floated across the room before settling on the desk. At the same time, a drawer in a cupboard opened and a sheaf of parchment did the same. And lastly one of the hundreds of filing cabinets opened before a file lifted up and settled into the goblin’s hands.

“I need a drop of your blood, Mister Potter, to confirm your identity,” the goblin told him.

“Okay,” Harry replied slowly.

Leaning forward Harry stretched out his hand and placed it into the waiting goblin’s palm. A silver knife that had been hidden inside the bowl was lifted out before being quickly drawn across the palm of his hand. His hand was then turned and held out over the parchment. After three drops had fallen, the goblin waved his hand over the cut, immediately sealing and healing the cut as though it had never been there.

Blinking in amazement at the minor piece of magic that had just been performed on him almost made him miss the fact that the parchment filled with writing, all written in a language that Harry could not read.

“It seems that you are who you say you are, Mister Potter,” the goblin stated, his features moving in what Harry took to be a smile but could quite easily have been a grimace. “I am Flailclaw. What are your questions?”

“Um, nice to meet you, Flailclaw,” Harry replied, unsure if it actually _was_ nice to meet someone willing to stick a knife in you before introducing themselves. “We should probably start with this.”

Harry pulled his emancipation papers out of his pocket and handed them over. Flailclaw’s eyes widened as he read it through. After reading it through a second time, he waved his hand over it while chanting in a strange language. The parchment glowing gold seemed to satisfy the goblin.

“This is authentic,” Flailclaw declared, then, picking up the still bloody dagger, he traced a pattern on the file with its bloody tip.

Harry watched as the file glowed white before flipping open. To his astonishment, there were two small ring boxes laying on top of a pile of parchment.

“You are entitled to these,” Flailclaw stated, pushing the boxes towards him.

“What are they?” Harry asked.

“Your Head of House rings,” Flailclaw stated as though that should be obvious.

“Head of House? What does that mean?” Harry asked.

“In simple terms, it means that you are the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter and the Head of the Ancient House of Peverell. You are responsible for all family matters for those two families,” Flailclaw replied.

“What, you mean I’m some kind of lord or something?” Harry asked incredulously.

The look that Flailclaw gave him told Harry that his thoughts weren’t worth the goblin’s time. Thankfully, he decided to answer anyway.

“No. There are no lords in the wizarding world. Occasionally a member of the Wizengamot may be called such as a mark of respect. Those trinkets are merely a … status symbol at best. And before you ask, an Ancient family is simply a wizarding family that can trace its magical ancestors back a minimum of fifteen generations.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry replied.

He opened the two rings to find that they were very similar. Each was made of the finest platinum with a family crest boarded by the name of the respective family engraved upon it. Picking up the Potter ring, he examined it closely to find the image of a pot upon a shield, a tiny dark orange gemstone set in its centre. The image on the Peverell ring was of a triangle bisected by a line with a circle set in the middle. In the centre of the circle, a tiny emerald sparkled up at him.

“These are your vault statements,” Flailclaw stated, laying three pieces of parchment in front of him as he placed the Potter ring on the smallest finger of his right hand and the Peverell ring on the corresponding finger of his left hand.

“As you can see, you are more than moderately wealthy. This is your trust fund. It was designed for your schooling use until you came of age. This is your main Potter vault. I understand that there are a large number of items contained within it in addition to the gold, silver and bronze. The Peverell vault, as you can see, is the smallest of the three.

“Now, as to your other assets,” Flailclaw continued, setting the three pieces of parchment to the side and replacing them with a further two. “The Potter fortune has fallen far over the years. This is mainly due to the fact that most of the businesses that your family was invested in during the last wizarding war were either destroyed or bankrupted. You are left with only these few.”

Harry ran his eye down the small list: a fifteen percent stake in _Zonko’s Joke Shop_ ; a twenty percent stake in _Obscurus_ _Books_ ; a ten percent stake in _Terrica Apothecary_ in somewhere called Knockturn Alley; and a thirty-five percent stake in _Davenhurst’s Wizarding Camping Supplies._

“Apart from this muggle apartment containing eight flats, your property interests are strictly in land,” Flailclaw stated, directing his gaze to the second piece of parchment. “This is the largest: Rowan Hill. It consists of two hundred and twenty acres of land on the Welsh coast. At one time your family manor stood on his ground, but it was completely destroyed at the same time that your grandparents were killed and never rebuilt. You also own a large parcel of land on the outskirts of Hogsmeade and a smaller piece of land near Windermere, Cumbria.

“There is also the property that your parents owned in Godric’s Hollow, but that has been appropriated by the Ministry of Magic and turned into magical monument.”

Slowly Harry nodded his head, trying to take in all of the information that he was being bombarded with.

Those two pieces of parchment were placed on top of the others, followed by his emancipation papers. Two small keys were then pushed across the desk towards him.

“The keys to your vaults,” Flailclaw stated. “If that is all? Good,” he replied when Harry didn’t respond in the fraction of a second that he was given. “In that case, Gringotts thanks you for your business. Good day.”

Automatically, Harry picked up the parchment and keys, thanked the goblin and exited back the way that he’d come.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

Harry glanced back up at the enormous marble building behind him. The one thing that he could say for sure about his visit to the bank was that it had been quick. Those goblins really didn’t muck about. The second thing that he knew for sure was that he was going to have to come back later with a bag of some kind.

While he’d already withdrawn the money that he thought that he was going to need, finding what looked like the contents of half a house stored in the largest of the vault had been completely unexpected. Depending on how much time he had after he’d completed his shopping, he knew that he’d be spending time poking around in there, and not just to collect some of the pictures, books and journals that he’d already noticed.

Digging out the list of supplies that he’d been given to get, Harry considered where to go next. Most of it, he considered, should be fairly straight forward. But there was an awful lot of it and he really didn’t feel like having to make multiple trips back and forth between Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldon.

Decision made, Harry set off to find that trunk shop that Ludo Bagman had told him about. Two minutes’ walking down the Alley and he found what he was looking for. A dozen trunks piled haphazardly outside the doors was a dead giveaway; the glance at the shop’s name was more out of habit than anything else.

Harry stepped cautiously through the door and looked around. He found himself in a room considerably darker than he thought that it should have been. That, he decided, was most likely due to the hundreds of stacks of trunks clogging up the room, leaving tiny isles through which to wend his way. He paused as he found himself in an open area, trunks piled over two sides, racks of miniature furniture on another and the final side filled with ordinary-looking bags.

“May I help you?” a tiny man asked, appearing from out of the gloom.

“I’m looking for Eli Stanford,” Harry replied.

“Well, you’ve found him,” the man smiled, although it was nearly lost under the busy moustache that he sported.

“I was told to give you this,” Harry said, handing over the note that Bagman had given him the night before.

“An unusual request,” Mister Stanford mused before lifting his wand and moving it in a complicated pattern.

Harry peered around, trying to discern what the man had just done. Seconds later, his curiosity was answered as a trunk zoomed out from one of the many aisles and settled neatly on the floor in the middle of the cleared space. It was beautifully crafted from a rich ebony wood. Its corners were reinforced with silver, the same material that was used for its clasp.

“This is what I believe that you are looking for,” Mister Stanford stated. “One of our three-compartment trunks.”

“Three compartments?” Harry asked.

“Certainly, certainly. Here, let me show you,” Mister Stanford said, kneeling down in front of the trunk and gesturing for Harry to join him.

“These are the runes to tap to get the compartment that you wish for,” Mister Stanford stated, pointing at the strange markings just under the clasp. “The first compartment.”

Mister Stanford touched the first marking and opened the lip, revealing the inside. Harry’s eyes narrowed. He’d swear that the insides were slightly bigger than what the outside would suggest. The lid was promptly closed.

“The second compartment,” Mister Stanford said, touching the second marking and opening it.

This one was identical to the first, slightly larger than it should be. That was until he noticed the series of five markings that were etched on the lip of the trunk.

“This compartment comes with four drawers,” Mister Stanford explained. “Simply touch the rune to indicate which drawer that you want.”

Harry goggled at what happened next. Mister Stanford touched the first marking and the bottom of the trunk dropped away, as though it was falling down a well. A touch of the second marking caused a drawer to appear in the rear wall that promptly opened, filling the space that had been left behind. A touch of each marking revealed that there were drawers hidden in each of the four walls. All Harry could do was shake his head and remind himself that he was dealing with magic, not logic.

“And finally, the third compartment,” Mister Stanford declared after lowering the lid and touching the final marking under the clasp.

This time when the lid was opened, the inside of the trunk consisted of a set of stairs disappearing downwards. At Mister Stanford’s smile and gesture, Harry warily stepped forward and into the trunk.

The instant that he reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around, he knew exactly why Mister Bagman had sent him here for this. The room that he was now staring around in was easily ten feet by seven feet big. Even though it was completely empty, Harry could easily see how it could be turned into a workshop.

“I love magic,” Harry grinned.

“Yes, it is quite useful, isn’t it,” Mister Standord chuckled, having followed him down. “What do you think?”

“I’ll take it,” Harry declared.

“If you’re interested in furniture, we have some right upstairs,” Mister Stanford said, continuing his sales pitch.

“Do you have any open-ended shelving and work benches?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Of course, of course,” Mister Stanford assured him. “Shall we?”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

Harry blinked as the sunlight hit him after emerging back into Diagon Alley. He’d ended up spending a lot more money than he’d intended in the trunk shop, but to have a place where he could work on both his carpentry and art was worth it in his opinion. The fact that the trunk could shrink to fit into his pocket was simply a bonus. As was the new book bag and pack that he’d picked out to hold his art supplies.

Speaking of which, directly across from where he was currently standing was the most eye-catching store that Harry had ever seen, at least in his opinion. Its enormous glass windows displayed frames and paintings of all sizes and styles. What made these ones so amazing to Harry, though, was the fact that the paintings were _moving_.

Almost on their own, his feet took him across the Alley and in through the door.

Inside he found even more of the wondrous moving pictures mounted on the walls. There were animals in forest settings grazing and walking around; groups of people conversing; and even a field of sunflowers swaying in the breeze.

“How can they move?” Harry breathed.

“A very special technique, which includes potions and spells,” he was answered, the unexpected voice making him jump.

Harry’s head snapped to the side to find a woman standing beside him. Her long brown hair trailed down over one shoulder, drawing his eye to the art smock that she was wearing, the paint dapped on it indicating that she was an artist, not just a store keeper.

“I’d love to be able to get my paintings to move like that,” Harry stated wistfully.

“Are you an artist, too, my dear?” the woman asked, her eyes shining brightly.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. My teacher says that I have talent; me, I just think that I’ve still got a lot to learn.”

“Well, let’s see what we can do for you,” she smiled.

When Harry finally left the art store some time later, his new trunk was filled with art supplies, bottles of special potion and three books explaining about wizarding art.

Deciding that he’d better start concentrating on finding what he needed for school before he found that he’d wasted the entire day side-tracked by everything that caught his eye in this amazing Alley, Harry took out the book list once more and read it through.

The very first item, he decided, was where he needed to begin. Thankfully, he already knew where to go for that.

The small shop with the single wand lying on a purple cushion in the window was exactly as he remembered it. Pushing open the door, Harry walked in, making a tiny bell tinkle high above him.

“Harry Potter. Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven Inches,” a voice stated from out of the shadows before Ollivander, the odd man who’d sold Harry his first wand emerged.

“Uh, hello, Sir,” Harry greeted.

“And how is your wand, Mister Potter? I can’t imagine that it has seen much use since you were last in this shop,” Ollivander stated.

“Uh, that’s why I’m here,” Harry replied. “I, uh, I need a new wand.”

Ollivander’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to the last one?”

Gulping, Harry decided to tell the truth. “When my uncle decided that I wasn’t going to go to Hogwarts, he burnt all of my things, including my wand.”

“How very unfortunate,” Ollivander declared. “I gather that you are here for a new wand then?”

“Yes, I am,” Harry replied.

“In that case, let us see what we can find,” Ollivander stated before turning to the rows of boxes behind him.

“Um, Mister Ollivander, Sir, are we going to have as much trouble as the last time?” Harry asked, remembering that it took nearly half an hour before he found his holly wand.

“I suspect we are,” Ollivander replied. “You were a tricky customer then and I dare say that you’ll be a tricky customer now.”

“Is there no way to speed up the process?” Harry asked hopefully.

Ollivander turned back and regarded him with his strange blue eyes.

“There is one way,” Ollivander mused, “but instead of shortening the process, it would be lengthened. However, your presence within the store would be less.”

“Yes?” Harry asked, not sure what to make of that seeming contradiction.

“I am proposing a custom-made wand, Mister Potter,” Ollivander declared.

“Custom-made? Sounds good to me,” Harry smiled.

Once again Ollivander stared at him for an overly long time before simply nodding and lifting up a section of the counter top.

“If you’ll come with me through to my workshop,” he offered.

Harry felt the tension fall away in waves as he entered the backroom – it was all so eminently familiar. There was a large workbench, tools hanging in their places above it. Racks of different types of wood sat the side waiting for use. Only the table of jars seemed a little off, that was until Harry equated them with the nails and screws that he was used to seeing.

“I believe that we can forgo the measurements,” Ollivander began, taking a seat on the stool, “I already know those from your last visit.”

Harry gave a small nod, his mind replaying the time the weird tape measure flittered about his body measuring everything from the length of his arm to the distance between his nostrils.

“Instead, we’ll begin with the wood. Simply run your hand over the wood and bring me the piece that feels most comfortable to you. It may even feel slightly warm or perhaps welcoming,” Ollivander explained.

Doing as instructed, Harry started at one end of the racks, lightly touching each piece of wood that was there. As he did so, he couldn’t help but catalogue the type of wood that they were: oak; beech; ash; mahogany; elder; hawthorne. It wasn’t until he reached the willow section that he found one that felt different.

As he leant in closer, closing his eyes to more fully concentrate on what he was feeling, he allowed his other hand to reach out to steady himself. A jolt of warmth spreading from his left hand had joined the feeling of completeness that he’d been experiencing from the piece of willow.

Snapping his eyes open, Harry looked to see what had caused the warmth. It was a piece of rowan that his hand had come to rest upon. Harry shook his head. _That_ particular type of wood seemed to be cropping up a lot: firstly in the desk that he’d made, then it had been mentioned as part of the name of the land he owned in Wales, and now this.

“Uh, I seem to have found two,” Harry told the old wand maker.

“Well, bring them here then,” Ollivander instructed.

“Hmm, at nice complementary pair,” Ollivander mused, running his long fingers over first one and then the other. “Rowan, good for protection; and willow, particularly good for charms and healing. Incidentally, willow was the wood used in your mother’s wand.”

“It was?” Harry asked, startled at learning something unexpected about his mum.

“Indeed. Now, on to the wand core,” Ollivander stated. “Inside each jar is a different core. Simply pass your hand over the top of each jar and feel for the one that calls you.”

After looking in some of the jars, Harry was certain that he didn’t want to actually know what some of them were. Thankfully, the one that he felt pulled to contained some type of hair.

“The hair of a sphinx,” Ollivander told him. “Especially useful in intelligence and creativity. This will indeed be a most unusual wand, Mister Potter. It is rare indeed that I use sphinx hair and never have I used this combination of components.”

Harry nodded uncertainly, unsure what to make of that.

“Well, off you go, then,” Ollivander instructed, waving his hands at him. “I have work to do. Return in three … no, four hours.”

“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir,” Harry replied before quickly making his escape.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

The following two hours was spent with Harry traipsing up and down the Alley, ducking into first one store and then another, buying everything that was on the supply list that he’d been given. Well, everything plus one or two extras, like the broom, for example.

He hadn’t _intended_ on buying one, but after indulging his curiosity by walking into _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ and then allowing himself to be talked into trying out a broom in the back demonstration room, he simply couldn’t _not_ buy a broom. The salesman assured him that the Nimbus Two Thousand was the perfect broom for him – not too fast, but with more than enough kick to give him a thrilling ride.

_Madam Malkin’s_ had been a battle with frustration. Once Madam Malkin had realised who he was, she’d kept trying to insist that he buy a full set of Hogwart’s robes. It took agreeing to buy some standard wizarding clothes in addition to the four forest green over robes that he’d chosen as acceptable accompaniments to his Stonewall High uniform, before she finally settled down and allowed him to leave.

His perusal of the dozens and dozens of different types of quills and stacks and parchment within _Scribbulus Writing Instruments_ decided Harry that he needed a trip back out into the normal world before the day was over. Fortunately, he’d already been considering it anyway. Now, though, he’d be adding buying fountain pens and lecture pads to his idea of getting new glasses.

Noting the time, Harry stopped for a late lunch. He figured that, if he hurried, he’d still have enough time to do everything, including picking up his new wand and having a second stop at Gringotts before all the stores closed for the day. That’d just leave him with packing everything properly into his trunk that night once he got back to the Leaky Cauldon.

And he really wanted to make sure that he got to bed early that night: going to Hogwarts for the first time tomorrow was going to ensure that it was a momentous, and most assuredly, a tiring day.


	6. Welcome to Hogwarts

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:10am_

_Thursday, 3 November 1994_

_The Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_._

“You’re certain that he’s coming today, Albus?” Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Head and Transfiguration professor of Hogwarts asked.

Albus Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled over his half-moon spectacles as he was peering at the woman who was currently paused in her continual pacing.

“He will be here, Minerva,” he replied soothingly. “Barty contacted me this morning to confirm their arrival.”

Dumbledore lifted one hand to forestall her next question. “They are only ten minutes late, after all.”

Minerva pursed her lips before dropping into one of the seats that the Headmaster had conjured upon her arrival. Beside her, the four students that she’d brought with her appeared uncomfortable, most likely due to her constant pacing and worry.

She was just about to apologise to them, although whether that was for her pacing or for them being kept waiting, she had no idea, when the fireplace burst into life.

Her head snapped to the side just as the flames turned green. She was just rising to her feet when the first of their visitors arrived.

Bartemius Crouch stepped from the fireplace, brushed the soot from his robes, nodded to those in the Headmaster’s office and turning back to await the other person expected through the FLOO. He was barely in time to catch the teen who came stumbling awkwardly out of the fireplace. It was only a fortuitous hand that stopped the staggering Harry Potter ending up on his face on the floor.

“Good morning, Barty, Mister Potter. Welcome to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said exuberantly as he rose to his feet, waving his wand to banish the soot from the two as he did so.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Barty nodded, “Professor McGonagall, may I present Mister Harry Potter?”

Minerva took the opportunity to get her first good look at the teen before her. What she saw made her gasp. It was as though she was looking straight into the past.

“You look extraordinarily like your father, Mister Potter,” she blurted. “Except for your eyes – they are purely all Lily.”

“Thank you, um, Ma’am,” Harry blinked back.

Minerva returned his blink with one of her own. She had been expecting Harry to be wearing traditional black Hogwarts robes. Instead, his outer robe was a deep forest green, while underneath it, his clothes appeared very … muggle. His pants and jacket were a dull stone grey, matching his tie, although, looking closer, she noted a pattern of pale green stripes running diagonally down it. Completing his wardrobe was a crisp white shirt.

“Mister Potter,” Barty continued with the introductions, “may I present Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

“It’s an honour to meet you, Harry,” Dumbledore replied.

After stepped forward to shake the Headmaster’s hand, Bartemius turned Harry’s attention to her.

“And this is Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts Deputy Head, Head of Gryffindor House and Professor of Transfiguration.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Potter,” she replied.

“Ma’am,” Harry nodded.

Noticing his eyes flit to the four teens behind her, Minerva turned to conduct the introductions.

“May I present four of your future classmates,” she said before indicating each one as she said their names. “This is Susan Bones; Daphne Greengrass; Hermione Granger; and Neville Longbottom.”

“Hi,” Harry said shyly.

“Before we go any further, I think that it would be appropriate to get young Harry sorted,” Dumbledore interjected.

Automatically, Minerva found herself reciting her usual ‘House’ speech that she gave to all of the first years before their sorting.

“Your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts …” she began before being interrupted by the teen.

“I’m not being sorted,” Harry stated flatly.

“I beg your pardon, Mister Potter?” Minerva spluttered. “But everyone who attends Hogwarts gets sorted into one of the four Houses.”

Harry was shaking his head at her. “That may be, Ma’am, but I’m not going to be a Hogwarts student, at least not yet, and therefore I won’t need to be sorted.”

Minerva turned bewildered eyes onto Dumbledore.

“Ah, yes, I believe Barty did mention something to that effect,” Dumbledore stated offhandedly. “But now that you are here, I believe that you will come to understand the importance of being sorted into a Hogwarts House.”

Once again Harry shook his head. “I’ve already explained this to Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman.”

“Enlighten us as to your reasoning, Mister Potter,” Dumbledore said, waving a hand towards one of the empty seats, an invitation that Harry ignored.

“Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman explained to me that Hogwarts already has a Champion for this Tournament thing that I’ve been somehow entered into,” Harry began. “And there is absolutely no way that I want to come into a school and become a _second_ Champion. Can you imagine how well that’d go over with the students already here?”

Minerva found herself nodding in agreement. The boy would be ostracised at the very least, bullied certainly, and she didn’t dare think what the Slytherins’ response would be.

“No, it’d be best for me to remain neutral,” Harry continued. “And that means not becoming a Hogwarts student or being sorted. And just so that it’s said, the same goes for the other two schools that already have Champions.”

“So you’re going to declare yourself independent of any school?” Minerva asked.

This time, Harry simply smiled at her. “Not in the slightest. Since it would be best if I represented a school, I’m going to represent Stonewall High, my old high school.”

“A muggle school?” Minerva gasped over the top of the barely repressed chuckle coming from one of the four behind her.

“Exactly,” Harry nodded before turning to Dumbledore. “That’s not to say that I won’t be incredibly grateful for the magical training that you’ve already lined up for me and, once the Tournament is finally done with, I’ll be more than happy to officially become a Hogwarts student.”

“While your reasoning is sound, Harry, I had hoped that you might reconsider,” Dumbledore temporised.

“Sorry, not going to happen,” Harry replied, sounding anything _but_ sorry. “This is the way that it has to be.”

“The Ministry is in full agreement with Mister Potter’s reasoning and solution,” Barty stated.

Minerva watched Dumbledore, waiting for the final decision. Finally, after gazing at young Harry for nearly a full minute, the Headmaster sighed.

“Well,” he said, “if that is the way that it has to be, then I guess that that is the way that it has to be. Of course, if you change your mind …”

Dumbledore let his sentence hang there expectantly, but Minerva could already tell that Harry was not going to be changing his mind. She guessed that she’d have to save the rest of her speech until the following September.

“I will have the elves prepare one of the guest quarters for you,” Dumbledore stated. “Perhaps one near the centre of the castle, to fit in best with your independent studies.”

Taking that as her cue, Minerva pulled a piece of parchment from her pocket and approached Harry.

“Due to your age, we have arranged for an independent study course for you that encompasses both individual time with the professors of each subject, as well as peer tutors,” Minerva began, indicating the four behind her as she did so.

“Mister Crouch mentioned something like that,” Harry nodded.

“Of course, you do have the option of joining any of the third year groups if you so wish for the electives that you choose to take,” she continued. “You would still be one year older, but that difference should be negligible.”

Harry appeared to think that through before slowly answering. “That might be something that I’ll take you up some time, but not just yet, I think. Those classes have already been going for, what, two months now?” At her nod, he continued. “That’d put me well behind them and wouldn’t be fair to either the students, the teacher or me. If I can catch up to them, perhaps we could revisit the idea then?”

Minerva nodded. “That would be acceptable. Now, all we need to know are exactly which subjects that you wish to take. Obviously, Astronomy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions and Transfiguration are all compulsory subjects. That just leaves your electives. There are five for you to choose from, of which you must choose a minimum of two.”

“Care of Magical Creatures; Ancient Runes; Muggle Studies; Arithmancy; and Divination,” Harry supplied for her, making a face of disgust at the last one. “Mister Crouch mentioned them this morning. The books for all of them were on the list that I was given and I bought the lot not realising that I only had to choose a couple.”

“So have you made your decision?” Minerva asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head. “Not yet. To be honest, I’m still not sure what some of them even are.”

“We have excused your peer tutors from classes for the day,” Dumbledore interjected. “Perhaps you could find out some more from them this morning while they are showing you around the castle and then you could give your final class selections to Professor McGonagall at lunch?”

“Thank you,” Harry replied. “I’ll do that.”

“I will escort you to your quarters after lunch, Mister Potter,” Minerva stated.

“Very good, very good,” Dumbledore twinkled. “Now, how about you four take our new student … oh, forgive me, our new resident, on a tour of the castle?”

“Certainly, Professor,” Miss Granger beamed. “Shall we?”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

Harry stopped as he and the four others reached the old, stone corridor. The door that they’d just left was guarded by a pair of the ugliest gargoyles that he’d ever seen. Lifting an eyebrow, he pierced one of this new ‘tutors’ with a question.

“They guard the Headmaster’s office. If you want to get in, you have to tell them the password; if you don’t know it, then they’ll relay a message to the Headmaster,” the girl with incredibly bushy hair told him.

Ignoring the illogic of what he’d just been told, Harry focussed on the girl instead. Her robes and the piping of her tie were all trimmed in blue. A large crest filled with an eagle adorned the right side of her robes. She was easily the most eager of the four and he was willing to bet that she would be filling his head with more facts than he’d be able to keep straight as soon as the ‘tour’ started.

“Hermione, right?” Harry asked.

She nodded eagerly.

“Like from _The Winter’s Tale_ by Shakespeare,” Harry clarified.

This time she beamed at him. “Not many people know that. My parents _and_ my grandparents are all Shakespeare buffs.”

After acknowledging that with a nod, Harry turned to the only other guy in the group. He was slightly taller than Harry, with slightly chubby cheeks to go along with his rather unfit frame. _His_ robes and tie were trimmed in red, a lion sitting in pride of place where Hermione’s eagle was.

“Neville,” Harry confirmed, eliciting a shy nod.

Continuing his turn, Harry took in the next girl. This one wore robes and a tie trimmed in yellow with an animal that Harry thought might be a badger on it. She had long mahogany-coloured hair pulled back in a pony-tail, allowing her happy expression and dancing brown eyes to shine clearly. A large smile was already on her face as she waited to see if he remembered her name.

“Susan?”

“That’s right, Harry,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you and, before I forget, I just wanted to say thank you so much for what you’re doing. I mean, deciding not to get sorted until after the Tournament. Cedric, I mean Cedric Diggory, he’s the Hogwarts Champion and a Hufflepuff, like me and us ’Puffs don’t seem to get much glory so it’s really an amazing thing that the Hogwarts Champion is a ’Puff and if you’d become the _second_ Hogwarts Champion, it would have taken so much away from Cedric and he really does deserve all the kudos that he’s given.”

“Um, you’re welcome,” Harry replied, trying not to stare at the verbal barrage that he was just subjected to.

“And you’re Daphne,” Harry said, turning to the last girl.

She stood slightly apart from the other three and, while Harry could tell that she was listening intently, her body was turned away as though she was disinterested. Her aloof look, coupled with her long, sleek black hair, slim build and, from what he could remember from in the office, the most brilliant blue eyes that he’d ever seen.

“Correct, Mister Potter,” she replied, finally deigning to turn her head towards him, letting him see those piercing blue eyes once more.

“Harry,” he corrected.

With a small bow of her head, she conceded to his wishes.

“Harry,” she repeated.

“And the four of you are going to be my tutors?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “We’re all top of our year in different subjects and also from different Houses so Professor McGonagall asked us if we wouldn’t mind giving up some of our free time to get you ‘up to speed’ as it were.”

“Shall we walk while we talk?” Susan suggested indicating to their left. “That way Harry can see the castle before lunch.”

Harry fell into step between Susan and Hermione, with Neville and Daphne flanking each of the girls. As they talked, Harry allowed his eyes to rove along the corridor. The suits of armour weren’t exactly unexpected, this being a castle after all. The fact that one of suits gave them a jaunty salute as they passed was quite surprising, causing Harry to shy and stumble away from it.

“Don’t mind them,” Hermione frowned. “I think the Weasley twins charmed them last week and the professors still haven’t managed to find and reverse all of the suits of armour yet.”

“They’re right good at pranks,” Neville blurted. “And right easy to spot. Tall, red-hair and have this annoying habit of finishing each other’s’ sentences.”

“It’s like watching a tennis match whenever you’re in a conversation with them,” Hermione groused.

“O-kay,” Harry said slowly as his eyes slid from the nearest suit of armour and onto a gigantic paining filled with a dozen witches and wizards playing some sort of card game. The fact that they all stopped and waved as the five of them passed wasn’t quite as shocking as it could have been after the art store in Diagon Alley that he’d been in the day before.

“Perhaps you should tell me more about those electives?” Harry suggested.

“Of course,” Hermione piped up happily. “Well, the elective that I’d be helping you with if you choose it, is Muggle Studies. Personally, as you’ve grown up with muggles, I’d recommend that you _don’t_ take it. The course is taught by a witch who I don’t think has been any closer than a hundred miles from a muggle in a decade. The course book is easily a hundred years out of date, too, which doesn’t help.”

“And that’s supposed to teach witches and wizards about the normal world?” Harry asked incredulously.

“I know,” Hermione replied, giving him a look of mutual disgust. “What I’m doing is studying the text in my spare time so that I can take the OWL without attending any of the classes.”

“Well, I think that it’s safe to say that _that_ is one that I won’t be choosing,” Harry stated.

“Have you … have you ever had the feeling that you could … that you could predict the future?” Neville stuttered.

“I’m guessing that you’re talking about Divination?” Harry asked.

At Neville’s relieved nod, Harry continued. “Nope, never had a feeling like that. And to be honest I’d already decided not to do that one. Mind you, I did consider it for all of about two seconds. But then I realised that I was thinking about it simply with the excuse to freak my aunt out about learning about the horoscopes that she’s always turning her nose up at.”

“Good decision, there, Harry,” Hermione replied. “Most people take it for an ‘easy’ OWL. It doesn’t take much thought and unless you’ve already got the gift, I don’t think that it’d do anything for you.”

Harry nodded before turning to Susan. “So what’s the elective that you’d tutor me in?”

“Care of Magical Creatures,” Susan beamed. “It’s just what it sounds like: learning all about magical creatures – what they eat, how to identify them, where they live, and how to care for them. It’s great fun.”

“What sorts of creatures are there?” Harry asked.

“Let’s see,” Susan began to list creatures, counting them out on her fingers. “Unicorns, but of course you wouldn’t be able to touch them, being a boy and all; bowtruckles; nifflers; bicorns; flobberworms; fire crabs; salamanders …”

Harry reached out and grabbed her hands before she could name any others. “I didn’t understand half of the words that you just said. Could be interesting, though.”

“Oh, it truly is, Harry,” Susan beamed.

“I’m guessing you’d be in charge of teaching me either Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, Daphne?” Harry asked.

“Both, actually,” Daphne replied.

“And what are they exactly? They were the two that were least self-explanatory.”

“Arithmancy is basically studying the mathematics of spells and enchanted objects,” Daphne replied. “It is used in spell creation and careers like warding, enchanting and even in potion making.”

Harry screwed up his nose. “Never really liked maths all that much. That’s not to say that I’m no good at it, because I am; I was always in near the top of my maths classes at Stonewall. And while I have no idea what those jobs were that you just listed, they make arithmancy sound rather important.”

“It is,” Daphne stated flatly. “As for Ancient Runes, that subject covers the different ways that magic users have created and used symbols to control magic. Today, runes are used primarily in creating wards or in enchanting, that is, creating a rune combination that produces the same sort of effect that a magic user can get from their wand, but without the witch or wizard needing to use their wand all of the time.”

“Like with choosing which compartment they want from their trunk if it has multiple compartments,” Harry mused.

Daphne’s blue eyes bored into him, bringing him back to the here and now before she gave a small nod of approval. “Exactly.”

As they had been talking, the five of them had wandered the castle, with different passageways and where they led being explained to Harry. Now, though, they came to the main thoroughfare of the castle.

“The stairs move?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Of course,” Daphne replied simply.

“It does take a bit of getting used to,” Susan added.

“And you never know when they’re going to do so,” Neville noted with what Harry saw was a decided shiver.

“And unfortunately, there’s no rhyme or reason to the movements either,” Hermione frowned. “It seems that it all depends on how that stairs are feeling at that moment.”

Harry stared at the brown-haired girl. The stairs had feelings? All he could do was shake his head and remind himself that he’d come to a _magic_ castle.

“Ah, here we are,” Susan said happily, drawing his attention to the fact that a set of stairs had just lined up with where they were standing. “Shall we head outside?”

With a shrug, Harry followed along.

They arrived in a large entrance hall that Harry was sure could fit the entire Dursley house inside it, and both levels at that. To one side, four enormous glass cases stood tall, each one filled with different coloured gems.

“They count the House points,” Neville told him, seeing where he was looking. “Not something that you’ll have to worry about.”

“What about the teachers,” Harry asked as they headed towards the massive double doors. “What are they like?”

“Well, you’ve already met Professor McGonagall,” Hermione replied. “She teaches Transfiguration. She’s incredibly strict but indisputably fair.”

“The rest are alright, if you don’t count Trelawney, and, since you’re not taking Divination, you don’t have to worry about her,” Susan commented. “They all have their own eccentricities, though, but it doesn’t take much to get used to them.”

“Except for Snape,” Neville muttered.

Daphne’s head snapped towards him and she pierced him with a cool, hard gaze. “That’s Professor Snape.”

“Oh, come on, Daphne, even you have to admit that the man’s biased,” Susan cajoled.

Reluctantly, Daphne gave a single nod. “Still, he is my Head of House and a Master of Potions.”

Harry’d had biased teachers before. He remembered a couple of years ago when the English teacher that he had seemed to dote on a particular group of girls and ignored the rest of the class. Besides, not being a Hogwarts student or in a classroom full of others, then he couldn’t see how this Professor Snape’s bias could affect him.

“Perhaps you’d better tell me about these Houses,” Harry suggested, deliberately changing the topic. “I’m guessing the different colours and animals that you’re wearing have something to do with it?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by the greatest witches and wizards of the age: Rowena Ravenclaw; Helga Hufflepuff; Godric Gryffindor; and Salazar Slytherin. The four Houses were named in their honour and each house epitomises the traits that that particular House prizes above all others.

“I wear the blue and eagle of Ravenclaw, the House known for intelligence, knowledge and wit,” she finished.

“I’m from Gryffindor, the house of the daring, brave and chivalrous,” Neville explained. “We’re represented by the lion.”

“As I said before, Harry, I’m from Hufflepuff,” Susan reminded him. “Hufflepuff House values hard work, loyalty and fair play.”

“Slytherin House prizes ambition, cunning and resourcefulness,” Daphne related. “We wear the snake as it is well-known that Slytherin himself could talk to snakes.”

“Oh, I can do that!” Harry exclaimed.

“You? Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lives speaks parseltongue?” Daphne asked incredulously.

“If that means ‘talks to snakes’, then yeah,” Harry replied. “I’ve always been able to do it. Accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin once at the zoo when he surprised us having a conversation. Not a good day,” he finished with a head shake.

“I don’t imagine that it would have been,” Daphne replied, but the gleam in her eye had changed to something … calculating.

“Best not to go telling too many others about that, Harry,” Neville told him seriously.

“Why?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling nervous with the way that everyone was looking at him.

“Let’s just say that being able to speak parseltongue isn’t a good thing,” Hermione replied. “It’s a trait that is exclusively associated with Dark Wizards here in Britain.”

“What? But why?” Harry asked.

He never received an answer though, as a sudden rush of air preceded a flash of white and an unexpected weight on his right shoulder. Swivelling his head, Harry found a snowy white owl perched there, her golden eyes staring right back at him.

“Hedwig?”


	7. Let There Be Light

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_12:20pm_

_Thursday, 3 November 1994_

_Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry stepped into the Great Hall of Hogwarts, looking around with interest.

His first thought was that it was positively _huge_ , easily three or four times the size of Stonewall High’s exercise gym. Four long tables ran the length of the hall, bench seating on either side, obviously for the four Houses to eat at. A fifth table, this one much smaller, ran perpendicular to the others, sitting up on the raised platform.

_For the teachers_ , he figured.

One side of the hall was bedecked in great stained-glass windows, letting in sheets of light, while above him, the ceiling mimicked the sky outside, complete with clouds gliding across it. _Magic_ , he had to remind himself. Dozens of wall scones dotted the walls, waiting to light the room at night, not that Harry could tell how just wall sconces would be enough to light up a room _this_ size.

His inspection was interrupted by a trio of boys materialising in front of he and his four new friends. Harry’s eyebrows rose even as he internally berated himself. Two of these boys were built along the same lines as Dudley and were obviously not people that one should normally be able to overlook. The expression on their faces made him believe that they were probably just as smart as Dudley was as well.

The third boy was different. His platinum blonde hair was immaculately slicked back with nary a hair out of place. His green-trimmed black robes appeared to be of the highest quality and his facial expression telegraphed his high opinion of himself for the world to see. Harry was content to reserve judgement before deciding if the boy’s opinion of himself was justified.

“Finally decided to come to Hogwarts, did you, Potter?” the blonde-haired leader of the three drawled.

“Hi, you obviously already know that I’m Harry Potter, nice to meet you,” Harry said with a false cheeriness.

“Oh, this is Crabbe and that’s Goyle,” he said, indicating the two hulking brutes behind his shoulders, “and I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

“Are you really?” Harry replied, thrusting his hand out to be shaken. “I’ve never met anyone named Draco before. That’s kind of a cool name.”

Draco Malfoy seemed slightly taken aback by that and it took him a couple of seconds to return to what was obviously a pre-prepared speech.

“Now that you’re here, you’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

Harry had noted the way Malfoy’s eyes darted to both Neville and Hermione as he stated ‘the wrong sort’. And in that, Harry had the boy’s measure.

“Can you really?” he asked eagerly. At Malfoy’s conceited nod, Harry continued. “In that case, I’d better know before I go wrong: what makes a family the right or the wrong sort?”

Malfoy stared at him before his face morphed into what was seeming to be its customary expression: a haughty sneer.

“Well, you see, Potter, most of it comes down to breeding,” Malfoy explained.

“Breeding, you say?” Harry echoed thoughtfully, momentarily ignoring the horrified expressions that Hermione, Neville and Susan were now throwing him.

“Yes, exactly,” Malfoy nodded. “Those magical families that can trace their families back at least fifteen generations are the ones that have the most magical power.”

“So families with a magical strength derived from a long magical history are the ones that I’m looking for?” Harry confirmed.

“To begin with,” Malfoy cautioned. “Of course that is only the start. You will find that those families inevitably also come with the most money and influence within society and on the political scene.”

Harry nodded in understanding before turning to Neville. “So, Nev. I’ve gotta ask: how far back can you trace your magical heritage?”

‘Um, twenty … twenty-three generations, Harry,” Neville replied.

“Good, good. Susan? Same question.”

“Twenty-seven generations,” she replied.

Daphne’s eyes narrowed when he turned to face her. Harry knew that she’d picked up that something was going on here but he was certain that she had no idea what it was.

“Before you ask, the Greengrass family can trace its magical heritage back nineteen generations.”

Hermione’s head had dropped before he even turned to ask her.

“I’m a first generation witch, Harry,” she told him dully. “Both my parents are muggles.”

She turned to go but Harry quickly reached out and caught her arm, holding her in place. Once he was certain that Hermione was going to stay, he turned back to Malfoy.

“So I should be friends with Neville, Susan and Daphne. Oh, and you, too, I presume,” he summed up.

“Well,” Malfoy drawled. “Myself and Daphne, definitely. The other two, probably not.”

“Why?” Harry asked incredulously. “Both Susan and Neville have longer family histories than Daphne does.”

“True, but their families have sullied themselves by getting mixed up with muggles,” Malfoy confided, leaning closer.

“Interesting,” Harry replied. “What about me? Where do I fit into this? I’m descended from two Ancient families: the Potters and the Peverells. Am I considered as being from the ‘right sort of families’?”

“Ordinarily, you would be,” Malfoy replied reluctantly, “but your father sullied both of those families by marrying a mudblood.”

Harry frowned in confusion. Here was a term that he didn’t recognise. He turned to Neville with a raised eyebrow, but it was Susan who answered.

“‘Mudblood’ is a derogatory word for a first generation witch or wizard, also known as a muggle-born.” She then went further to help him understand. “Malfoy and Daphne are what are called Pureblood. Neville and I are classified as Blood-traitors. That basically means that we’ve ‘sullied’ ourselves by associating with muggles or muggle-borns. You, on the other hand, having one magical and one muggle-born parent, are known as a half-blood.”

“Ah, thank you for that, Susan,” Harry smiled before turning back to Malfoy. “So, who I should befriend comes down to what their family status is. And their family status will also tell me how much magical power, money and influence they have. Is that about right?”

Malfoy gave a shaky nod at the distinct summation.

“If all that is the case, I’ve got to wonder why in the world you’re talking to me, a half-blood, in the first place?” Harry mused before waving that question aside. “But that’s for another time. I want to see more of this family blood standing and how it works.” Looking over Malfoy’s shoulder, he pinned Crabbe and Goyle with his gaze. “I take it by the fact that you’re with Draco here that you’re both purebloods?”

When he got confirming nods, Harry began to boldly grab each of the six around him and rearrange them. Crabbe and Goyle he stood beside Malfoy, with Daphne beside him. Next came Neville and Susan and then a gap for himself, with Hermione on the end.

“So this is how the standings work?” he asked, before pointing to each grouping. “Purebloods, blood-traitors, half-bloods and first generation magicals. Right. Right. Now, I want to see this in action. I can’t do much magic yet, but I can produce a light. I’m guessing that that’s all beyond simple for the rest of you. Now, if you all make a light, am I right that the lights at this end,” here he pointed at the pureblood end, before switching to point towards Hermione “will be brighter than that end?”

“That’s right,” Malfoy said firmly, but Harry caught the trace of uncertainty in his voice.

“It’d help if we all really push our magic into the spell, Harry,” Susan suggested.

“Push the magic into the spell?” Harry mused, running one hand through his hair. “Okay, I think that I can do that. Now, we’re going to need a judge. Someone impartial.”

Looking around, Harry now realised that they’d gathered a crowd. Dozens of black-robed Hogwarts students surrounded the line-up that Harry had made. He considered asking one of them before he found the perfect solution.

Rushing out through the crowd, Harry skidded to a stop in front of the closest teacher. This man was tall with straight, greasy black hair that was parted in such a way as to form curtains to either side of his face. He also had the largest beak for a nose that Harry’d ever seen.

“Potter. What are you doing out of uniform?” the man drawled.

Taken momentarily aback, Harry glanced down at himself, before waving the question away.

“If you mean the robe, Sir, I know that it’s not a part of Stonewall’s uniform, but I wanted something that’d make me blend in more with the wizarding world. But who’s going to tell them, hey? Now, I was wondering if you could help us, Sir?”

“Help you, Potter?” the man asked in wonder as though he’d never been asked such an outlandish question before in his life.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry nodded. “You see we’re having a debate over there about blood status and how that equates to magical power. We’re all going to produce a light and we need someone to tell us if the brightness equates to the appropriate blood status.”

While he was talking, he’d managed to lead the teacher back with him. As soon as he was there, he slipped into place between Hermione and Susan.

“Well, get on with it, then,” the teacher drawled.

Harry paused, watching as the others pulled their wands and muttered or said, “ _lumos._ ” Seeing the end of their wands light up with a white light, Harry nodded, lifted his hand, opened his palm and willed there to be light.

Instantly, a ball of white light the size of a tennis ball hovered above his palm. He smiled at it and cocked his head, examining it for flaws. Then, remembering what Susan had said about pushing his magic into the spell, he willed the ball to be brighter. His eyes squinted as the ball grew half again as big while increasing in brightness nearly ten-fold.

Harry could feel sweat forming on his brow the longer that he pushed his magic into this bright incandescent ball on the palm of his hand. Finally, he could hold it now more and willed it to extinguish.

Breathing hard, Harry bent over, resting his hands on his knees. Finally, he lifted his head to look at the teacher.

“So, did it work how it was supposed to? Who was the brightest?”

“I believe it safe to say that you produced the brightest light, Potter,” the hook-nosed teacher replied, with some weird look on his face that Harry couldn’t identify.

“Oh. Well, then what about everyone else? What was the order of brightness?” Harry asked, straightening as he felt his strength begin to return.

The teacher’s lips pursed and Harry wondered if he was going to answer. Then, after taking a glance at the gathered crowd, he gave the results of their experiment.

“Miss Greengrass and Miss Granger produced an equally bright _lumos_. Mister Malfoy and Miss Bones’ lights were only slightly less bright. Next was Mister Longbottom, with Messrs Crabbe and Goyle producing the dimmest _lumos_.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry replied with a nod before turning to Malfoy. “Well, it seems that your theory of blood status equalling magical power is in error, Draco.”

Malfoy looked about to protest in some way, shape or form, a protest that Harry was loathe to allow.

“The results were clear and judged fairly and impartially by Professor …” Harry looked quizzically at the teacher, realising that he’d forgotten to ask his name.

Thankfully, the man came to the rescue. “Snape.”

“Professor Snape. And it is very clear exactly what that experiment demonstrated. You, Draco Malfoy are a bigot. I suggest that you have a good, long, hard think about what happened here today and how that measures up to your blood status view of the world.”

Shifting his eyes to the other two large boys, Harry nodded to them, “thanks for helping out.”

Their confusion over how to respond only caused Harry to shake his head before he turned to smile at his friends.

“Shall we go have lunch?” he asked.

The other four formed up around him as they moved away from the crowd. Once more focussing on the now crowded tables, Harry spotted a potential problem.

“Um, where should we sit?” he asked, waving his hand ahead of them.

“It is customary to sit with one’s Housemates,” Daphne told him.

And indeed, apart from two groups of students in different coloured robes – one group in sky blue and the other in blood red – each table was dominated by Hogwarts students wearing only one trim colour.

“Well, that could be a problem?” he mused. “I guess that, if you guys are willing to have me, I’ll just have to rotate amongst you every meal.”

“You could sit with me at the Gryffindor table today, if you want,” Neville asked hesitantly.

“Sounds great, Neville, thanks. We’ll catch up with you girls later,” Harry smiled before allowing Neville to lead him to one side of the Hall.

Space was made for the two of them amongst others who Harry thought looked to be the same age as them.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he said, looking around at everyone.

“Harry, these are the Gryffindor fourth years,” Neville introduced, indicating each one. “That’s Dean and Seamus beside you, this is Ron next to me, and across from us are Lavender, Parvarti, Fay and Alice.”

A chorus of ‘hellos’ were given as well as handshakes all around.

“That was some show you put on over there,” Seamus stated in an Irish accent as he spooned potatoes onto his plate.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Harry shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped, though.”

“What do you mean?” Fay asked. “Did Malfoy say something?”

“In a way,” Harry replied. “He offered to introduce me to the ‘right sort of families’. And then he had the audacity to explain about blood status, insulting most of my new friends, and me as well, come to think about it.”

“How’d you know that that light competition would give results like that?” Neville asked.

Harry shrugged. “To be honest, I didn’t. All that I could go on was two facts. One, I’d been given four tutors who are top of their classes here and coincidentally representing every type of blood status that Malfoy was going on about. And two, I knew his type.”

“You picked up that he’s a bullying git from that one small conversation?” Ron asked.

“Yeah. You see I know bullies. I should after having to suffer them all my life – at home, in primary school and the first couple of years at Stonewall. And there was no way that I was going to let him get a toe-hold into the idea that he could bully me here,” Harry explained, before turning to Neville. “Sorry to put you and the others on the spot like that. I know what it’s like to have unwanted attention – I’ve been getting it every time I’m in the Wizarding World with that Boy-Who-Lived crap.”

“Crap?” Ron spluttered. “But you’re ruddy famous!”

Harry stared at him as though he’d just grown two heads.

“Why in the world would I want to be famous for not dying when my parents did?” he asked. “I’d much rather have them still around than all that stupid fame.”

“But isn’t that what got you into the TriWiz?” Dean asked.

Harry shrugged. “Probably. At least, that’s my guess – someone sticking my name into that bloody cup and hoping that it’d come out. I’m assuming that the press has been going wild with their being four Champions and The-Boy-Who-Lived being one of them.”

“They have,” Lavendar nodded. “There’s been something about you and it on the front page every day since.”

“So you don’t know how your name got into the Goblet?” Parvarti asked.

“Nah. How could I? I was tucked away down in Surrey. Didn’t even know this Tournament existed until two wizards knocked on our door that night,” Harry shook his head. “The question of how my name got into, and then came out of, that cup is one for the … the … ah … magical police.”

“Aurors,” Neville supplied helpfully.

“Aurors, right, I’ll try to remember that. Anyway. If I couldn’t have entered, then I can’t see how I can be made to compete,” Harry stated.

“Then why are you here if you’re not going to compete?” Fay finally asked into the silence that Harry’s statement had created.

“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong. I’ll ‘compete’. At least enough not to lose my magic,” Harry confirmed. “And as to why I’m here, let’s just say that competing in a competition that I have no hope of winning is a better alternative that what I already had.”

“How can you say that you have no hope of winning?” Ron asked incredulously. “After seeing what you can already do with your magic, there’s no way that you won’t win!”

“You mean the light thing?” Harry asked only to receive a vigorous nod. “I only taught myself that so that I could get my homework done. By the time that I’d finished work and done my chores, I’d run out of my electricity allotment for the day and I needed light to see what I was doing. So I taught myself this.”

Harry lifted his hand and produced his light ball. Around him, there were oohs and ahhs galore.

“Took me months to work out how to do and then even longer to make it stay lit when I wasn’t focussed on it.”

“What else can you do without a wand?” Seamus asked eagerly.

After vanishing the light, Harry turned his palm and willed the salt shaker in front of Dean to come to him.

“And that concludes the extent of my magical powers,” Harry told them.

“Not likely, Harry,” Neville shook his head. “If you can already do that, I don’t think that it’s going to take you long to learn to do the same things that we can.”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. The talk then evolved into the others telling Harry all about the magic that they’d learnt and what Hogwarts was like and the classes, as well as the teachers, all interspersed with a little about each of themselves as well.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_1:35pm_

_Thursday, 3 November 1994_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“You are certain that those are the subjects that you wish to pursue,” Professor McGonagall asked Harry as they walked the corridors of Hogwarts.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry replied. “Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes both sound fascinating; and both Daphne and Hermione assure me that Arithmancy will be incredibly useful.”

“Hmm, as long as you aren’t feeling pressured into something that you don’t want to do,” Professor McGonagall persisted.

“Not at all,” Harry assured her. “The only other option was Muggle Studies and Hermione said I’d do much better at that _not_ studying it than attending the classes.”

“Yes, I am quite aware of Miss Granger’s feelings towards that particular subject,” Professor McGonagall stated, her lips thinning considerably.

As they walked, Professor McGonagall produced a piece of parchment from her pocket and tapped it with her wand. She then presented it to him.

“Your schedule. As you can see, the vast majority of your classes are in the evenings, that was the only way that we could work the individual instruction time between you and the professors into your schedule. Those classes will begin on Monday. That will give you tomorrow and the weekend to begin reading up on each subject.

“You will also need to discuss appropriate times to spend with Misses Granger, Bones and Greengrass, as well as with Mister Longbottom. Do remember that they are giving up their own personal time in order to offer you tuition. Do not abuse it.”

“Of course not, Ma’am,” Harry quickly assured her.

“The rest of your time you will be expected to self-study,” Professor McGonagall continued. “For safety’s sake, I would suggest that you begin primarily with the non-wand based subjects until you have had some instruction in the wanded subject areas.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry agreed.

For some minutes after that, the two walked in silence. Harry was fairly certain that they were on the third floor, somewhere in the northeast part of the castle. Quite unexpectedly, Professor McGonagall stopped beside a sculpture of a magical knight of some kind. At least, that’s what Harry thought that he was supposed to be.

He was wearing medieval armour, with a sheathed sword on his right hip and a shield mounted on his left arm. The primary way that he differed from a regular knight, though, was the existence of a wand clutched firmly in the knight’s right fist.

“Sir Rogeric, this is Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall said to the sculpture. “He will be residing within the quarters that you guard for the foreseeable future.”

“Um, hello?” Harry said, feeling incredibly foolish for talking to a carved piece of stone.

The knight’s helmet shifted to face Harry before he bowed slightly in greeting.

“You’ll need to set Sir Rogeric a password so that he knows who to let into your rooms,” Professor McGonagall told him.

“Um, okay,” Harry said, thinking furiously of a suitable, and easily remembered, word. One word immediately stood out in his mind; in fact it was the word that had been fairly common in his life quite recently.

Stepping closer to the knight, Harry whispered his choice, “Rowan.”

With a nod of understanding, Sir Rogeric stepped to the side, revealing a plain wooden door. At Professor McGonagall’s gesture, Harry stepped forward, opened the door and entered.

Inside he found a quaint little sitting room made up of two recliners and a two-seater lounge in deep blue fabric grouped around the small coffee table that sat before a small fireplace. At the back of the room, directly in front of a large window, was a table, one hard-backed wooden chair at each of its ends. Two doors were set on the wall to his right; a tall, empty bookcase set in between them.

“You will find a private bathroom through one of those doors, and your bedroom through the other,” Professor McGonagall told him from the doorway. “If you need anything, come find one of the staff and we’ll be more than willing to help you.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry smiled.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I have a third year class of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins to teach shortly,” she said before nodding to him and closing the door behind her.

 Leaving the two doors for now, Harry crossed the room and circled the table. He threw open the window and grinned to find a view partly filled with the Black Lake, the rest taken up with a long expanse of grass before it disappeared into a dense forest.

A flash of white caused him to step back in time for his snowy owl to glide through the window, before perching on the back of one of the chairs.

“Hey, Hedwig,” he said, reaching out and stroking her breast feathers, “told you the first thing that I’d do would be to open the window when I was given my room.”

Hedwig blinked slowly at him in what Harry took as a grin.

“I’ll make you a proper perch as soon as I can,” Harry promised. “For now though, I hope you don’t mind if I check out the rest of this place.”

The first door that Harry opened was his new bedroom.

The first item that he noticed was the chest of drawers beside him, but that was only out of the corner of his eye. What really captured his attention was the enormous four-poster bed. Grinning maniacally, Harry raced forward, intent on throwing himself on what looked to be luxurious softness. Just before he leapt, though, he came to a screeching halt. A package had been placed in the very centre of his bed.

Curiously, Harry picked up the brown papered object. His head cocked as he pulled the slip of parchment loose from where it had been wedged under the string ties. Then, unfolding it, he read the message:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._


	8. Crowds and First Classes

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_2:45pm_

_Saturday, 5 November 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry knew that he was hiding. That didn’t mean that he had to admit it, except, perhaps to himself in the deepest, darkest part of his consciousness.

It was easy to fool himself that he was doing necessary work. After all, it simply wouldn’t do to leave the massive pile of lumber lying in the middle of his workroom. And then there were the buckets and the wheelbarrow of wood off-cuts that needed to be stored; tools to be hung in place ready for use; tins of lacquer and boxes of nails and screws to put away; and a special place to find for his whittling materials.

And once all of that had been sorted, Harry could then move on to provisioning his rowan-wood desk ready for study and after _that_ he could work on setting up an art station.

So, it was quite easy to fool himself into believing that what he was doing was vitally important before he became swamped with learning all of these strange new subjects.

Not that he believed it, of course.

He knew.

How could he not? Especially after the way that he’d raced into his quarters, his heart pounding, his breathing ragged the way that it was.

He’d now been in the castle, at Hogwarts, for two days. And in that time, he’d been swarmed by nearly everyone. Everyone, from the students to the teachers to the _ghosts_ of all things, had wanted to meet him and talk his ear off.

And if there was one thing that Harry truly hated, it was attention. Attention meant that eyes were focused on him. And if eyes were focused on him, inevitably, bad things would happen.

Of course, it all traced back to the Dursleys.

Whenever his aunt or uncle’s eyes were on him, it meant extra chores or failing that, beatings or other punishments for failing to complete said punishments in a timely or correct enough fashion or else for doing something freakish. Dudley, too, was someone who Harry had never wanted attention from. Dudley’s form of attention was to play Harry-Hunting with his friends and beat Harry to a pulp.

With Dudley’s blessing had seen others, firstly around Little Whinging and then around his primary school, picking on him, bullying him and beating him. It’d even bled into Stonewall High for the first couple of years before Dudley’s influence finally wore off those who no longer hung around him due to Dudley being at Smeltings.

Safety was something Harry had always felt was achieved when he was alone, somewhere hidden or somewhere he could be anonymous. Thus why art and woodworking and even home economics the one year that he’d taken it had been good subjects for him: they were subjects that he could be left alone in.

Here at Hogwarts, though, was different. Here, he was constantly in the spotlight. Here he was sought out, not an uncommon occurrence in Harry’s life, just the reasoning was different. Instead of wanting to beat him up, everyone here wanted to be seen in the company of The-Boy-Who-Lived and the TriWizard Champion.

He’d tried sticking close to his four tutors. Hermione, Neville, Susan and Daphne had all seemed very nice the day he’d spent with them when he’d first arrived and he’d even gone to bed that night dreaming about the possibility of perhaps even making _friends_ here. Every meal he’d sat a different House table with one of them, attempting to get to know them better while also meeting others.

Unfortunately, it seemed that his stunt in the Great Hall that very first lunch with Draco Malfoy had backfired spectacularly. Oh, yes, he’d proven his point about being biased towards someone just because of who their parents were and he was pretty sure that he’d nipped that potential bullying in the bud.

But it was his light ball that had caused so much difficulty. Who knew that something that he’d taught himself to do and now did so effortlessly would be considered so ‘awe inspiring’? Wordless and wandless magic, they’d called it, something that was apparently nearly unheard of in one so young.

_That_ had led to even more people wanting to be near him and the constant questions of whether he could teach _them_ how to do it. And he’d thought that he was there simply to learn. More fool him, apparently.

Today, Saturday, a day when there were no classes, was particularly bad. He’d wandered the library that morning, marvelling at the bizarre non-filing system that was used and shaking his head at the thought of trying to find what he needed in there. And the entire time that he was in there, he’d been followed through the stacks by giggling bands of girls as though he was some kind of rock star and them his groupies.

Eventually the feeling of being trapped had become too much and he’d escaped all the way out of the castle. People flying high over some kind of pitch on broomsticks had caught his attention and he’d been drawn along to watch.

Seated high above the ground in one of the stands, Harry’d marvelled as he watched the game. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but it was fascinating all the same. There was obviously a keeper guarding _three_ hoops and seven players on each team and three, no _four_ different balls all in play at once. The fact that two of those balls were constantly rocketing around the pitch trying to knock people off of their brooms simply made it the most dangerous game that Harry’d ever seen.

He’d only managed to be there about five minutes, before people started noticing that he was there. Then had come the hoards. In what seemed a flash, the stands surrounding him had been filled and he was getting commentary from four different sources all at once. And they’d packed in so tightly around him that it was as though he was a sardine in a tin, making it impossible to escape. He’d been forced to stay until the game had finally concluded.

That was when he’d rushed straight back to his quarters. Lunch would have been nice, but he’d missed enough meals over the years that one more wasn’t going to make any difference.

And so, he’d thrown himself into tidying up the large workroom in the third compartment in his trunk from the unshrunken mess that Mister Crouch had left on the floor. Once he had done so, he already had a first project in mind: a perch for Hedwig.

A faint knocking sound echoed down the stairs leading back up to his main quarters and Harry paused, his head tilted, a large plank of oak in his hands. After a minute it came again and he realised what it must be: Sir Rogeric knocking on his door.

It’d taken Harry three visitors before he’d finally accepted that the stone statue stationed outside his door also liked to announce his visitors in such a fashion. Split between the notion that it could simply be a teacher, but knowing that it was probably another one of the people looking to latch onto the ‘famous’ new kid in the castle, Harry placed the plank on the large workbench in the centre of the room before slowing making his way up out of his trunk, through his bedroom and across the sitting room to the door.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, a fake half-smile plastered on his face.

“Yes?” he asked and then stopped.

The woman standing before him was someone that he’d never seen before. She certainly had never been at the staff table during any meal and the dark blue robes that she wore, left breast embroidered with some kind of badge in the shape of a shield also indicated that she wasn’t a teacher.

He guessed that this woman was in her late middle-age; at the very least, she was older than Aunt Petunia but younger than Professor McGonagall. Her grey hair was close cropped, highlighting her square-shaped jaw. The woman’s most distinguishing feature, though, had to be the monocle that she wore that she wore over her right eye. It definitely gave her a very serious, no nonsense look and Harry instinctively knew that this was someone not to cross.

“Mister Potter? My name is Madam Amelia Bones. I am the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department with the Ministry of Magic,” she stated.

Harry blinked, processing what he’d just heard and translating it into ‘muggle’.

“You’re a magical police officer,” he finally replied. “Nice to meet you. Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you, Mister Potter,” she nodded before stepping through the door.

“Did you say your name was Amelia _Bones_?” Harry asked. “Any relation to Susan Bones here at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, indeed, Mister Potter. Susan’s my niece,” she replied, a small smile softening her features considerably.

“Susan’s nice,” Harry told her, “she’s going to be one of my tutors, in Defence, Charms and Magical Creatures, I believe.”

“Yes, she wrote me about that,” Madam Bones replied.

“What is it that I can do for you, Madam Bones?” Harry asked, even though he suspected that he knew the answer, after all, he’d learnt that it was never wise to show that you knew too much when dealing with figures of authority.

“I wanted to meet with you about the fact that your name was drawn out of a magical item that it should not have been in in the first place,” she stated.

“That’s right, I think that Mister Crouch mentioned that you would,” Harry replied. “Would you prefer to talk up here or would you like to come downstairs?”

“Downstairs, Mister Potter?” Madam Bones asked, raising one eyebrow. “I did not know that Hogwarts offered guest quarters with multiple levels.”

“Oh, no, they don’t,” Harry replied. “Mister Bagman suggested that I buy a trunk with _three_ compartments in it and one of them goes down into a huge room. I was just down there tidying it up before you arrived.”

“In that case, here will be fine, Mister Potter,” Madam Bones told him. “I have no need to see your personal belongings.”

“Okay, and it’s ‘Harry’, Ma’am, just ‘Harry’,” Harry told her.

“As you wish, Harry,” she said as they settled themselves into the two armchairs in front of the coffee table.

“Now, as I said, I am here in relation to the incident that took place on the thirty-first of October of this year, namely, your name being drawn out of the Goblet of Fire, making you the _fourth_ Champion in the TriWizard Tournament,” Madam Bones began.

“From just those very facts alone, there were obviously a number of laws broken that need to be investigated. Firstly, we are seeking the perpetrator who charmed the Goblet with such a strong _confundus_ charm that it overrode even a goblin-enchanted object. Then there is the fact that your name, the name of a person who was clearly under-age at the time was entered into the Tournament against the rules. Before we get to the last felony that I suspect has occurred, there are a number of questions that I need to ask you and a test that I need to conduct.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, waving for her to continue.

“Were you at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the dates of October thirty and October thirty-one of this year?” she asked.

“No, Ma’am,” Harry replied instantly. “I was in Surrey, either at my aunt and uncle’s house, at school or at work.”

“Did you have any knowledge that the TriWizard Tournament was due to be held here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry over the next ten months?”

“No, Ma’am,” Harry replied, “I’d never even heard of it until Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman came to my house on October thirty-one.”

Madam Bones nodded, hesitated, and asked the next question even though Harry could already tell that she knew what the answer was going to be.

“So you did not either place your name into the Goblet of Fire or ask anyone to do it for you, either verbally, in a written form or using any inference at all?”

“No, Ma’am,” Harry stated emphatically.

“Thank you, Harry,” Madam Bones said. “Considering your circumstances, I didn’t expect anything different. Now, if I may, I need to perform a test.”

At his nod, she pulled from her pocket a small case, opened it and levitated a piece of singed paper out of it onto the coffee table using her wand. Then, her wand was moved in an intricate pattern above the paper before that same pattern was repeated in Harry’s direction. Finally, she nodded and slipped the paper, case and wand away.

“As expected, the paper that came out of the Goblet of Fire carries your magical signature,” Madam Bones stated.

“How is that possible?” Harry asked, and then, a moment later, “and why was it expected?”

“In answer to your second question, it was expected because the Goblet accepted you as a legitimate participant for the TriWizard Tournament and then bound you to the Tournament with a magical contract,” Madam Bones explained. “As to your first question, I believe that finding out the answer to that question will lead us to the answers to my original questions. Somehow, someone got a hold of a piece of paper that you had signed, thus also attaining your magical signature.”

“O-kay,” Harry said slowly, trying to understand how that might be possible when he didn’t even know any magical people before Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman had turned up on his doorstep, well apart from Hagrid, of course, but he was sure that he would have noticed a twelve foot man lurking around Surrey.

“I will, of course, keep you completely up to date with our investigation,” Madam Bones promised. “If I may, one last question that may or not have any bearing on this case?”

“Sure,” Harry shrugged.

“Why did you agree to compete in a magical contest that you have no hope of being able to compete in or even the possibility of winning?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Harry told her, “it got me out from being stuck at Privet Drive four years early.”

“I take it that you do not like being with your relatives?” Madam Bones asked slowly, a frown etched on her face.

“That would be putting it mildly,” Harry deadpanned.

“I see,” Madam Bones replied. “Thank you for your time, Harry. I will be in touch.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Harry replied, showing her out.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:35pm_

_Monday, 7 November 1994_

_Potion Lab, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry eagerly slipped into the potions laboratory, located in the most unusual place of a dungeon of a castle and looked around.

It was a dark pit of a room, lit by only a dozen or so torches in wall sconces. Some small window high up on one side of the room would probably let in additional light during the day, but did absolutely nothing for now. Cupboards and shelves full of unidentifiable jars and buckets lined the walls. A dozen old wooden benches were lined up in two rows, obviously for the students, while the teacher’s desk and blackboard sat upon the small raised area at the opposite end of the room. To one side of the platform was an extra door leading to only Harry could guess where.

“Take a seat, Mister Potter,” a cold voice drawled.

Harry’s gaze shifted as he walked further into the room to find the owner of that voice.

His eyes narrowed as he finally made out the dark shape hidden in the shadows of one corner. The teacher, Professor Snape, wore deep black robes, making him all but impossible to notice until he had spoken. His sallow skin being half hidden behind curtains of greasy black hair didn’t help either.

As he was the only one to be taking this class, Harry chose a seat at the front left-hand desk.

“You are here to learn the subtle art of potion making,” Professor Snape stated in a voice that, while being a near-whisper, clearly carried throughout the room. “I hope you’ve been studying ahead.”

“I have, Sir,” Harry told him. “At least, I’ve read the first half-dozen chapters of _Magical Draughts and Where to Find Them_.”

“That is … something, however disappointing an amount it actually is,” Snape commented. “You should, at the very least, have an idea of what Potions entails.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “I think so. From what I can tell, it seems to be a mixture of chemistry and cooking, only using magical ingredients to get the potion to produce the desired result.”

Snape’s horrified expression clearly indicated that he was less than impressed with Harry’s explanation.

“Potions is an art form. It takes much more than simple wand waving or _cooking_ skills to produce the required result,” Snape informed him with disgust.

After Harry had nodded uncertainly, Snape continued. “Now, as you have read so far ahead,” the sarcasm here was impossible to miss and Harry wondered what he’d done to earn such scorn from this teacher, “you should have no problem with preparing the ingredients for, and preparing, today’s potion.”

At that pronouncement, Snape whirled and tapped the board with his wand. Instantly, the directions for making the Boil Cure Potion appeared. Harry nearly gagged at just the thought of some of the ingredients: snake fangs; horned slugs; porcupine quills; and flobberworm mucus amongst others.

“Ingredients are in that cupboard to your left. You have one hour. Begin,” Professor Snape instructed before promptly sitting behind his desk.

Harry stared at his teacher. That was it? That was the extent of his very first lesson in potion making? Here’s the instructions; begin? Where were the details instructions and demonstrations on how to prepare the ingredients? Where were the safety instructions? Where was the safety equipment? Was he simply going to sit there instead of giving personalised instructions?

Shaking his head, Harry decided to make the best of things.

At least, he figured, he’d decided to keep his old chemistry equipment and bring it to Hogwarts with him.

Reaching into his bag, he began to take out the things that he’d need: cauldron, silver knife, brass scales. And then, after a few second’s thought, he began setting up the way his old chemistry teacher had once shown him. His lecture pad and pen went to one side to copy down the steps that he did and to note his observations. His old lab coat was pulled out and slipped on and then the goggles and nose and mouth mask were placed on as well.

“Potter, what do you think you are doing?” Snape drawled.

“Preparing to make the potion,” Harry replied after moving the mask away from his mouth.

“And what is all of … _that_?” Snape asked, waving his hand derogatorily as he rounded his desk and approached.

Harry waited for his inspection to be completed before continuing.

“Is that … muggle _science_ equipment?” Snape asked, disgust clear in his voice.

“Uh, yes, Sir,” Harry replied, self-consciously. “It’s just standard safety equipment, Sir.”

“Superfluous,” Snape declared. “Remove it. I don’t want to see it in this classroom again.”

Harry stared at the man. Take it off? Make these potions _without_ any sort of safety equipment whatsoever? He shook his head. It’d been drilled into him far too much for him to do such a stupid thing.

“But what if there’s an accident?” Harry asked tentatively. “This stuff is designed to keep me safe.”

Snape stared at him down his long hooked nose. “That is what Madam Pomphrey and the Hospital wing are for. Now. Remove that muggle nonsense.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. The man’s mind was obviously made up. And he’d been so looking forward to this. No proper instructions; no safety gear. This was not a classroom; this was an accident waiting to happen.

Deliberately, Harry removed his lab coat, safety glasses and mask and put them back in his bag. Next went his pad and pen, quickly followed by the cauldron, knife and scales.

“I did not say to put it all away, Potter,” Snape snapped. “How are you supposed to make your potion without your cauldron?”

“I’m not, Sir,” Harry replied, picking up the strap of his bag. “I’m sorry, Sir, I was really looking forward to learning Potions. But I refuse to do so under such unsafe conditions. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

And before the professor could retort, Harry had spun around and strode from the room.


	9. Magical Intent

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:30am_

_Tuesday, 8 November 1994_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

 “The brat refuses to be taught!” Severus Snape spat.

Harry scowled. He’d been called much worse over the years, not to mention that he’d been blamed for worse things, but this time he’d decided to stand his ground.

The two of them were in the Headmaster’s office, Harry seated in the chair that he’d been offered, the professor prowling about, his black robes billowing about as he stalked.

“Now, Severus, name-calling isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Headmaster Dumbledore stated lightly, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape’s grimace deepen.

“This is obviously about last night’s potion lesson,” Headmaster Dumbledore observed. “Perhaps if you tell me exactly what happened?”

The prowling stopped as Snape spun to stare at the Headmaster. “Potter arrived. I gave him the same instructions that I’d give any first year class on their very first lesson, instructed him to make the Boil Cure Potion and then he refused to do so and left.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He had to admit that it was, in essence, correct. Wholly misleading, but accurate. He also had to really wonder how anyone managed to learn the subject if that was the standard lesson plan that was given: a few grandiose statements, followed by the appearance of the potion’s instruction on the blackboard.

“Is Professor Snape’s description of events accurate, Harry?” Headmaster Dumbledore asked.

“In essence, I guess,” he grudgingly allowed, “although I would have provided more detail.”

“So, you did walk out of Professor Snape’s lesson?” Headmaster Dumbledore persisted.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. It was obvious who the Headmaster favoured here, and it wasn’t the truth. He’d expected to at least be asked for his version of events.

“I felt that I had no choice to,” Harry replied carefully.

“May I ask what prompted you to feel that way?” Headmaster Dumbledore asked, a flick of his eyes going to his potion’s master.

Harry supressed his feeling of triumph. _Now_ , he could tell his side of the story.

“I felt that it would be unwise to stay in the classroom and create a potion in a situation that was highly dangerous,” he replied.

“Dangerous?” Snape spluttered. “My classrooms are not dangerous unless the dunderheads inside it can’t follow instructions properly.”

“I was given no instructions or demonstrations towards how to prepare the ingredients or make the potion, other than the appearance of the instructions on the blackboard, a copy of what could be found in my textbook,” Harry stated, having ignored the hook-nosed man’s outburst.

“There were no safety instructions issued, nor any safety gear supplied or pointed out. And when I attempted to use my lab coat, protective glasses and face mask – items that are mandatory in any normal high school’s chemistry class when dealing with potentially volatile substances – the professor forbade their use and stated that they were never to be brought to his classroom again.

“I’ve had it drummed into me how important the right safety equipment is, not only in chemistry class, but even in simply working at _Keating’s_ , that I wasn’t going to put myself into an unsafe environment. So, I left,” Harry finished simply.

“Muggle nonsense,” Snape spat, throwing his arms up in the air. “Perhaps that sort of thing is needed _out there_ , but not here where we have a hospital wing and Pomphrey who can fix anything in a thrice.”

Headmaster Dumbledore sat back, his elbows on the arms of his chair, hands steepled before him. His eyes never seemed to leave Harry as he thought.

“Professor Snape is correct, Harry,” the Headmaster finally said. “Magical healing is a thousand times more effective in the case of accidents.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I’d rather not need the services of the hospital wing in the first place,” Harry stated adamantly.

“Nevertheless, Potions is a required subject and while you are learning it from Professor Snape, you must abide by his rules within his classroom,” Headmaster Dumbledore ruled, eliciting a smirk from Snape.

“In that case, Sir, I request another teacher,” Harry stated formally.

“Professor Snape is one of the leading Potion Masters in the country, Harry, you would be hard pressed to find anyone better at potion making than he is,” Headmaster Dumbledore countered.

“That’s fine, Sir. I’ll take a less knowledgeable one if they’re more safety conscious and can give better instructions than, ‘the ingredients are in the cupboard, the instructions are on the board, begin’,” Harry stated.

Dumbledore’s hand snapped up, cutting off whatever Snape’s outburst was going to be.

“I’m afraid that while you are in at Hogwarts, you are required to take your instructions from Professor Snape,” Headmaster Dumbledore stated in a tone of voice that said that the discussion was now closed.

“I see,” Harry replied, his eyes narrowed. “If that is all, Sir, I will be going. I have a study session this morning.”

“Of course, Harry, of course,” Headmaster Dumbledore stated lightly.

Harry strode from the room, his brain already whirling with ideas.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_12:05pm_

_Tuesday, 8 November 1994_

_Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Brass ones, brother of mine,” a lanky red-head stated as he and his twin plonked onto the bench across from Harry.

“ _Great_ brass ones,” the other corrected.

“Indeed,” the first nodded. “How could it be otherwise?”

“Definitely Gryffindor material,” the second observed.

“No other house would simply do,” the other agreed.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, young Harry,” they grinned together.

“ _You_ are going to make life here very interesting,” the second added.

“And become even more of a legend than you already are,” the other agreed.

Harry felt as though he had been trapped in some kind of weird tennis match, but where words were volleyed backwards and forwards between two identical opponents instead of tennis balls.

“Would you two stop that,” he asked, “you’re going to give me whiplash.”

“No can do, young Harrikins,” one replied, with a shake of their head.

“We always talk like this,” the other stated, shaking their head in direct counterpoint to their brother.

“Who are you?” Harry decided to try.

“We’re the Weasleys. I’m Fred,” the one on the right said.

“And I’m George,” the other introduced before pausing to look suspiciously at his brother. “Hang on, I thought _I_ was going to be Fred today.”

The one who _could_ be Fred waved a dismissive hand. “Too late, I’m Fred now.”

“Would you settle for being Forge so I can be Gred?” his twin asked.

“I can agree to that,” the other agreed, then with a nod, they turned back to Harry.

“Hi, I’m Gred,” the one who was supposed to be Forge said.

“And I’m Forge,” the other grinned.

Harry’s mouth moved without a sound coming out of it. Finally he simply shook his head and decided not to even bother trying to address either one of them by any sort of name.

“Weasley,” he eventually latched on to. “I take it you’re related to Ron?”

The two grimaced. “We’ll never admit to anything.”

“There’s nothing you can prove to link us to the kid.”

Once again, Harry felt his mouth move up and down before he was finally able to get his voice to work.

“O-kay. Perhaps you’d be able to explain your comments from before?” Harry tried.

“Well, you see, we were observing that you must have big brass ones …”

“Massive brass ones,” the other corrected.

“Massive brass ones, to have the guts to walk out on the greasy git.”

It only took a fraction of a second for Harry to connect ‘the greasy git’ with Snape’s clearly unwashed hair.

“I simply wasn’t going to work in an unsafe environment,” Harry shrugged. “He didn’t supply, and wouldn’t allow, safety gear.”

“An interesting concept there, ‘safety gear’,” one twin observed.

“Especially after all of the accidents that we’ve had over the years,” the other agreed.

“This could be something that we should look into.”

“We heard that you brought some muggle stuff with you …”

“Could you show us?” one twin asked.

“Sure,” Harry agreed. “Come by before dinner and I can show you what I brought with me.”

“Would you mind if we replicated it?” the twin on the right asked.

“As long as it doesn’t hurt mine, I don’t see a problem,” Harry allowed.

The twin on the left waved off his concerns before turning to his brother.

“Could be a real money spinner.”

“And the ultimate prank …”

“Indeed,” the other nodded eagerly, obviously on the same wavelength.

“Can you imagine an entire class …”

“Turning up wearing it?”

“Have to keep it away from Dad, though.”

“Too right,” the other agreed, before turning back to Harry to explain. “Our dad’s heavily into anything muggle. Just can’t leave off taking things apart.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Do the same sort of thing ourselves …”

“Just with spells and potions and things instead of muggle gadgets.”

Harry had the feeling that this was going to be a long lunch. Incredibly interesting, but long. And he was certain that he’d need an aspirin by the end of it.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:45am_

_Tuesday, 8 November 1994_

_Charms Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Good evening, Mister Potter,” the diminutive teacher called cheerily. “Come in, come in.”

Closing the door behind him, Harry approached the front of the room where he could see the teacher standing on a _pile of books_? Harry blinked but then reconsidered. He guessed that it made the tiny teacher who reminded him strongly of the goblins that he’d seen at Gringotts able to see the entire classroom. But why he simply didn’t use a platform, he had no idea.

“Well, are you ready for your first lesson in Charms?” Professor Flitwick asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry replied, dumping his bag on one desk.

“No need for that,” Professor Flitwick commented, stopping Harry as he began to pull a pad and pen out of his bag.

“I thought that we’d concentrate on practical work for now and I’d assign you chapters to read during your individual study time,” Professor Flitwick stated. Then, even more eagerly than he’d already been, he continued. “Before we begin, I was wondering if you’d show me that marvellous light that I’ve heard so much about?”

“Sure,” Harry replied with a shrug.

Then, lifting one hand and opening his palm, Harry willed the ball of light to appear.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight. “Now, I’ve heard that you can make it brighter?”

As he did that day in the Great Hall, Harry concentrated on pushing his magic into the light, just as Susan had instructed. Once again, the ball grew and magnified in intensity.

“Excellent, Mister Potter, excellent. If you’d allow it to return to its former brightness?” Professor Flitwick asked.

Harry did so, blinking the spots out of his eyes.

“Can you make it do anything else?” Professor Flitwick asked.

“I can make it change colours,” Harry replied.

Then, after a gesture of encouragement, Harry willed the ball of light to change from white to red to green to yellow to blue and then to a deep black that pulsed with an otherworldly light.

“Marvellous, simply marvellous,” Professor Flitwick declared. “You can let it go now, Mister Potter.”

Harry did so and smiled at the beaming teacher.

“That was a truly excellent display of not only wandless, but also silent spellcasting,” Professor Flitwick observed. “Now, what I’d like us to do is to work on that aspect of your magic as well as the ordinary wandwork that I had prepared for us to do.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed.

“Let us begin with that same light spell. Take out your wand, Mister Potter.”

Flicking his wrist the way that Mister Ollivander had taught him when he’d sold him the wand holster, Harry’s rowan and willow wand shot into his hand. He still marvelled at the amazing way that Mister Ollivander had woven the two woods together. Primarily, the wand was a deep red, indicating its rowan wood base. The willow was evident in the pattern of white wood that wove upwards from the handle, reminiscent of a vine of leaves growing towards the sun.

“In general,” Professor Flitwick began, “spells are a combination of three elements: wand movement, incantation and magical will or intent. Silent casting or non-verbal casting, which you were doing when you created your ball of light, negates one part of that equation, but it is probably the smallest part of casting a spell.

“Now, to produce the same effect, that is, creating light using your wand, the _lumos_ spell, you are able to drop an additional part of the equation, in this instance, wand movement. This is probably one of the simplest spells in existence. Simple magical will power or intent is all that is needed. Most students begin by saying the incantation, in this case _lumos_ , as well, but I believe that you can probably forgo that part.

“I want you to simply hold your wand in your hand and will light to appear. Watch me as I demonstrate.”

Harry watched intently as the tiny charms master lifted his wand, clearly stated, “ _lumos_ ”, and the tip of his wand lit up with a bright white light.

“To end the spell, the incantation is ‘ _nox_ ’,” Professor Flitwick stated. “Now, your turn, Mister Potter.”

Harry shifted the grip on his wand and focused on the end of it. Light was what he wanted, just like he’d been shown. And then it was there. The very tip of his wand now shone with a light that, while bright, was nowhere near as bright as what he could produce without a wand.

“Well done, Mister Potter,” Professor Flitwick congratulated. “I knew that you’d be able to do it with ease.”

“It’s not as bright as when I do it without my wand,” Harry pointed out.

“No, it’s not,” Professor Flitwick agreed, “but you have to remember that you’re now training your magic to produce the same effect through the medium of a conductor that you had previously trained to do otherwise. I would assume that you weren’t able to produce your ball of light on the first try either?”

“No, Sir. That took me months and months of practice to do.”

“Exactly. Magic is like a muscle. It must be trained up to do what we want,” Professor Flitwick explained. “The fact that you were able to train your magic the way you have already is astonishing. Using a wand will make that process infinitely easier, especially when you reach much harder spells. But it will take time to learn and to teach your magic to do what you want.”

Harry nodded in understanding as he let the light dissipate.

“Now, let’s move on to a new charm,” Professor Flitwick stated. “This one is also relatively easy. It’s called the levitation charm or _wingardium leviosa_. It will allow you to lift objects by magical intent alone. And as with any muscle, it needs to be trained up. Today, we’ll start with making feathers float; but in time you’ll have no problem levitating a chair, a desk, that cupboard or even heavier items.

“We will begin with learning this charm through the use of your wand, however, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to accomplish the same feat without one. The incantation is obviously _wingardium leviosa_ and the wand movement is a simple swish and flick.”

Harry watched intently as Professor Flitwick demonstrating the charm by levitating a feather to above his head before he slowly allowed it to settle back down once more.

“Your turn, Mister Potter,” Professor Flitwick encouraged.

Harry stared at the feather. It was simply making it float. He knew that he could already get things to come to him and that was sort of the same, just horizontal instead of vertical. His eyes flicked to the tiny teacher, who was watching just as intently, a smile on his face.

Taking a deep breath, Harry focused on what he wanted to have happen. He could do this, he was sure of it. Well, mostly sure. Lifting his wand, he pointed it at the feather.

“ _Wingardium leviosa,”_ he intoned.

A small shudder rippled through the feather, but otherwise, it stayed firmly in place.

Frowning slightly at it, he tried again.

“ _Wingardium leviosa_.”

This time, the feather twitched and jerked before lifting off of the desk a couple of inches before settling back down.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry willed the feather to simply do as it was told.

“ _Wingardium leviosa!”_

And obey it did. This time, the feather shot straight up, only to begin bouncing against the ceiling.

“Well done, Mister Potter, well done indeed,” Professor Flitwick squeaked, “although I fear that you may have put a little too much power into it. How about you bring it back to the desk and practice a few more times, this time concentrating on exactly the effect that you are wanting.”

Harry’s cheeks coloured in embarrassment as he nodded his head.

The next fifteen minutes or so were spent with Harry practicing raising and lowering the feather; Professor Flitwick offering more and more compliments and less and less tips as the time wore on.

“Very good, Mister Potter. Now, before we end the lesson, how about you try the same charm, only this time _without_ your wand?”

With a nod, Harry slid his wand away into its holster.

Whenever he wanted something to come to him, he’d hold out his hand. After chewing this over for a minute or so, he decided to simply point his finger at the feather.

“ _Wingardium leviosa!”_ he tried, a slight warble in his voice indicating his uncertainty.

As expected, absolutely nothing happened.

“You need to believe it, Mister Potter. Visualise what you what to have happen and make the magic do what you command,” Professor Flitwick instructed.

After a decisive nod at his teacher, Harry once more focussed on the feather sitting quietly before him. The problem, he knew, was the fact that he was trying to do something that he wasn’t used to: that is, command vocally. Concentrating on his pronunciation as well as his magic in addition to visualising what he wanted, was simply one too many things to do at once.

Consequently, he decided to drop one.

This time, with nary a sound escaping his lips, the feather did as it was told, lifting one foot, then two feet off of the table and hovering there in mid-air.

“Oh, well done, Mister Potter! Well done, indeed!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed.

Concentrating on his magic, Harry manipulated the feather’s flight path, sending it higher and lower on command. Then, on impulse, he decided to tie in part of his other learned ability. Consequently, the feather promptly few towards him before stopping half a foot in front of his nose.

“I think that we can safely say that this is one charm that won’t take you long to master at all,” Professor Flitwick beamed.

Harry returned the smile as the feather bobbed merrily before him.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:35am_

_Saturday, 12 November 1994_

_The Grounds, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Harry!”

The sound of his name lifted Harry’s head and he looked up and around, blinking to refocus his eyes. To his right he found Daphne, an annoyed expression on her face.

“We were supposed to meet over half an hour ago,” she stated accusingly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Daphne,” Harry apologised, glancing at his watch and wincing at the verification that it offered. “I lost track of time.”

“Obviously,” she stated dryly. And then her curiosity seemed to get the better of her. “So, what kept you out here?”

In answer, H turned his sketch pad towards her. A wave of nervousness swept through him as he awaited her opinion, a not uncommon sensation that occurred any time that he showed his work to others.

Her eyes roved over the pad and she sank to her knees. One hand tentatively reached out and touched a point of the drawing. Harry’s eyes flicked between her shining blue orbs and the landscape sketch that he’d been working on for the past couple of hours.

The vast majority of the page was filled with a massive tree whose limbs seemed to be in constant motion, despite the fact that the air was completely still. To one side, it showed the enormous lake. And in the foreground, the part that he was currently touching up and the part that had drawn Daphne’s complete focus, was a unicorn.

Harry’d seen it earlier that morning, just as it had emerged from the dark forest. For nearly five minutes, it’d stood there, allowing Harry to drink in the amazing sight. And then it’d bounded away, disappearing between two massive oak trees back into the forest.

“You did this?” Daphne asked in awe, lightly touching the charcoal unicorn once more.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“It’s _good_ ,” she stated, her eyes finally rising to meet his.

Harry ran his eyes over the drawing once more, evaluating it.

“It’s not bad,” he allowed.

“Not bad?” Daphne spluttered. “It’s definitely a lot more than just ‘not bad’!”

Harry shrugged, still not completely comfortable with people praising his artwork, despite how often Mrs Jensen, his Stonewall High art teacher, had lavished praise on his work.

“Do you draw often?” Daphne asked.

“Sometimes,” Harry allowed. “It helps me destress.”

“If you can produce something like that just from destressing, then you should do it more often,” Daphne declared before shifting back to what had brought her out to find him in the first place. “As long as you’re not doing it when I’m supposed to be tutoring you.”

“I am sorry, Daphne,” Harry apologised again before inspiration struck him. “Would you accept this as an apology?”

“Once again Daphne’s eyes were drawn to the sketch pad.

“You’d really give it to me?” she asked in awe.

“Sure,” Harry replied. “I’d pretty much finished it anyway.”

“In that case, yes, Mister Potter, as payment for standing me up, I will gladly accept your offering,” she said pompously before promptly erupting into a wide smile.

Harry returned her smile as he detached the page from his sketch pad and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Harry,” Daphne said. “Are you ready for Ancient Runes now?”

“Lead the way,” Harry replied, rising to his feet and offering a hand down to help her up.

 


	10. The Worst Sort of Secret Keeper

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_3:10am_

_Saturday, 12 November 1994_

_Hagrid’s Hut, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“’Arry!”

Harry looked up and then up again into the great black beard of Hagrid. The way the whiskers moved, he was sure that the big man was smiling, but it was kind of hard to tell. Really, apart from his nose, there really wasn’t a lot to see of Hagrid’s face – even his small black eyes were nearly hidden beneath his bushy black eyebrows.

“Hi, Hagrid; thanks for inviting me,” Harry smiled.

“Come in, come in, then,” Hagrid invited, stepping to the side of the door to his hut.

Harry took a single step forward and then his progress was halted. An enormous boarhound had rushed forward and leapt up, two massive paws landing on Harry’s chest while a great wet tongue began licking Harry’s face.

“Fang! Get down ya dozy dog!” Hagrid commanded, pulling at his collar. “Don’ mind Fang, ’Arry. Wouldna hurt a fly, he wouldn’t.”

Harry nodded absently, as he rubbed his glasses clean on his tie.

The inside of Hagrid’s hut appeared to be one great room. Off to one side was a massive bed, big enough for Hagrid or three or four normal sized people. A rough hand-made table and chairs took pride of place in the centre of the room, a fact that made Harry wince. _He_ had been able to produce better quality work after his first attempt at carpentry. And on the last side of the room, was a collection of pots and pans and cupboards of all shapes and sizes.

Horse hairs and small, dead animals, traps and all manner of bric-a-brac hung from the rafters, all of it, thankfully high above his head.

“Sit down, then, an’ I’ll get us sum tea,” Hagrid said as he bustled across to the blazing fireplace where a kettle hung from a metal rod.

Tentatively, Harry sat down, still interestedly looking around. A weight settled in his lap and he blinked down at the massive dog head that he’d seemed to acquire.

“Thank you for looking after Hedwig so well for all those years,” Harry said.

“Ya welcome, ’Arry,” Hagrid beamed as he poured the tea. “Wasn’t as though it was much of a ’ardship, really. She sorta tended to ’erself mostly.”

“Still, knowing that she was with you helped me not worry so much,” Harry replied.

“I’m jus’ glad that yer finally here and can loo’ after ’er yerself,” Hagrid told him.

Looking around, Harry searched for something to say to this virtual stranger.

“Are all of these things from the forest?” he asked, indicating the rafters above.

“Yeah, yeah, ne’er know exactly wha’ you’re gonna find out there,” Hagrid replied. “I’ve got unicorn ’air and thestral ’air, o’ course. Tha’s acromantula silk and in tha’ pouch is some wood lice in case I run inta any bowtruckles.”

“Wow,” Harry said.

Some of the creatures that Hagrid had just named Harry’d never heard of before. Others, like the unicorn, he’d actually had the pleasure of seeing for himself.

“What other animals are in the forest?” he asked.

“Let’s see,” Hagrid said, lifting one hand to count them out on his fingers. “There’s the horse breeds: unicorns, thestrals, hippogryphs and, of course, the ruddy star-gazers themselves, the centaurs. The acromantula. They’re giant spiders. My friend Aragog leads ’em. Then there’s the smaller ones: bowtruckles, fairies, nifflers ‘n’ salamanders. O’ course, there’s the dragons they brought in the Tournament in there, too, at the moment.”

Suddenly, Hagrid looked startled and shifted his eyes around quickly.

“Probably shouldna have mention tha’,” he said. “Be obliged if you wouldna mention that ta anyone.”

Harry made a motion of zipping his lips together which just seemed to confuse the big man across the table from him.

“Don’t worry, Hagrid, your secret’s safe with me.”

 / ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:00am_

_Sunday, 13 November 1994_

_The Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Usually, libraries were a safe haven for Harry. When he was younger, Dudley and his gang would never venture in one to continue their ‘Harry Hunting’ games, after all. And any bullying that’d happened at Stonewall was stymied by the same trick.

Here at Hogwarts, though, the library wasn’t quite an ‘off-limits’ type of place. Oh, it’d probably work okay against bullies, but that wasn’t what was annoying Harry right at that particular moment. No, _here_ it was the crowds of giggling teenage girls that seemed to think hiding in the stacks, peering at him and whispering amongst themselves was a good idea that was getting to him.

At least out in the rest of the castle it was possible to duck down a passageway somewhere and lose them, even if it did mean that he’d developed a bad habit of getting terribly lost more than once a day. And on the grounds they had to keep their distance. But here in the library…?

Grimacing to himself, Harry turned his back on the nearest ones and tried to concentrate on the subject in hand, namely, dragons.

Ever since Hagrid had let slip what he’d find in the first task, Harry’d been curious, especially after finding out that dragons weren’t the stuff of myths and legends that he thought that they were. Not that he really should have thought any different after seeing the unicorn that other morning.

As expected, dragons were considered the one of the most dangerous creatures alive, even to wizards. Their skin was spell resistant, not that he knew enough magic to do anything to even the lowliest of creatures. They breathed fire and could fly. Apparently they also had one of the best eye sights around as well, even better than an eagle’s.

Harry spend the next little while leafing through the book in his hands, his eyes growing ever wider as he read about each of the twelve different types of dragons that could be found around the world. There was the relatively tame Common Welsh Green; the stunningly beautiful Antipodean Opaleye; the highly venomous Peruviun Vipertooth; and the most dangerous of them all, the Hungarian Horntail.

But it was the wizarding photos contained within the book that really had Harry mesmerized. Each moving picture of the dragons was awe-inspiring. They were magnificent creatures and, despite the fact that he was going to have to make some sort of token effort against one of them, he couldn’t wait to see one up close.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:30pm_

_Monday, 14 November 1994_

_The Entrance Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

The sound of movement coming from outside the castle had Harry jumping to his feet from the bench that he was sitting upon. And it was not a moment too soon, for at that moment, two people walked through the door, people that he was expecting.

Mister Crouch looked as straight-laced and immaculately dressed in wizard’s robes as he did in a muggle business suit. In fact, the robes that he wore could have been an alternate suit, seeing as these were a deep pin-striped blue, not unlike the suit that he’d worn.

The elderly woman at his side was also expected, even though Harry hadn’t known exactly who Mister Crouch would be bringing. Harry pegged her age to be at least seventy, but it was hard to tell, at least, she was definitely older than any teacher that he’d ever had before and that included Mrs Tomlinson who’d retired half-way through his third year at Stonewall. She was relatively short for an adult, only a hand span or two taller than Harry was, and thin with shoulders that had just begun to stoop.

Her grey hair was cut short around her shoulders and wrinkle lines were deep about her blue eyes and from the corners of her mouth. The pair of thin spectacles only seemed to enhance the way her eyes darted about, taking everything in. They came to rest on Harry himself and he felt himself shifting nervously from foot to foot under her scrutiny.

“Ah, Mister Potter,” Mister Crouch greeted.

“Mister Crouch,” Harry replied, shaking the proffered hand, “thank you for organising this for me.”

“It was my pleasure; after all, I got you here, it is only right that I keep an eye on how you’re fairing,” Mister Crouch stated. “May I present Madam Susan Walker?”

“Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Harry said, shaking her hand.

“The pleasure is mine, Mister Potter,” she smiled. “And to have a student again and to get out from being stuck at home doing nothing but potter around in the garden is wonderful. Really, there’s only so many times you can pull the same weed or prune the same hedge.”

Harry grinned, relating instantly to the monotony that she was talking about, after all, gardening had been one of the constant chores that he’d had at the Dursleys.

“Madam Walker was one of the premier potion mistresses in the country in her day,” Mister Crouch told Harry, only to find the lady in question turning piercing eyes on him.

“What do you mean, ‘in her day’? I’ll have you know that my day is not over yet and you’ll find that I am _still_ one of the best potion mistresses in the country.”

A flustered Crouch quickly began back-peddling, causing Harry to smile in amusement. He could already tell that Madam Walker was going to be a no-nonsense type of teacher. All that was left to do was to find out how she felt about safety in her lab.

“Madam, if I may,” Harry began, catching her attention, “I was wondering if you could tell me a little about your expectations of classroom work that you’d have of me.”

Madam Walker eyed him speculatively before answering. “I will expect you to follow instructions, and I can assure you that there will be a lot of them until I can be certain that you can make a potion without either blowing yourself or me up.”

“So, you’re big on safety then?” Harry clarified.

“That should go without saying, Mister Potter,” Madam Walker stated. “Potions is an exacting art that utilizes a myriad of dangerous and volatile ingredients. Unless you know exactly what you are doing, from the best way to prepare ingredients to the different types of reactions that you can expect by mixing them together, accidents can and will happen. Safety should always be paramount, even for an experienced Potion’s Mistress like myself.”

“You’re hired!” Harry beamed.

“Mister Potter, Professor Snape is the potions master in this school,” Headmaster Dumbledore stated from behind him.

Harry whirled around in surprise. He hadn’t even heard the old man approach.

“That may be, Dumbledore,” Mister Crouch stated, “but I was contacted by Mister Potter and, after hearing his list of concerns concerning Professor Snape, the Ministry decided that Mister Potter was entitled to alternate instruction, thus Madam Walker.”

“From what I have been hearing for the past ten years, I’ve suspected that Mister Snape has been doing more harm to the profession of potion making than good,” Madam Walker stated. “And after hearing about the first lesson that Mister Potter endured, I now _know_ that that is the fact. He is wise to get away from Mister Snape before he learns bad habits.”

“But …” Dumbledore began before being interrupted by Crouch.

“You must remember, Dumbledore, that Mister Potter here is not a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For now, while Hogwarts is providing to his educational needs, it is being overseen by the Ministry of Magic.”

Only by watching extremely closely was Harry able to notice the thin line that the old man’s lips had become for a fraction of a second. That and the momentary dulling of those twinkling blue eyes assured Harry that the Headmaster wasn’t happy about this in the slightest.

“Now, I assume that you have somewhere in the castle where Mister Potter and I can hold our lessons?” Madam Walker asked, although Harry could tell that it wasn’t really a question.

“Of course,” Headmaster Dumbledore finally replied. “Let me show you the way to the dungeons.”

“The dungeons?” Madam Walker repeated in obvious surprise. “No, I’m sorry, that simply will not do. Potion making inevitable involves the creation of fumes. We will need somewhere with proper ventilation. Perhaps you have an unused classroom on the second or third floor, preferably one with windows?”

Once again, the old Headmaster frowned. “I think that we may have something that fits that description.”

At her gesture, Dumbledore began heading towards the nearest staircase. Harry paused to nod his thanks to Mister Crouch before following along. He suspected that he was going to quite enjoy learning potions with Madam Walker.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:15am_

_Sunday, 19 November 1994_

_Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Come along, Mister Potter, come along,” Madam Hooch instructed impatiently as he entered the stadium.

In response, Harry lengthened his stride. Not that he’d been dawdling before that – he’d been too excited to do that. Learning to ride a broom had seemed such a quintessential thing for magic users to do that he knew that he had to do it too. After all, that was a big part of what had had him going into _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ in the first place, not to mention _buying_ the Nimbus Two Thousand that was currently sitting on his shoulder.

“Now, we don’t have long, Mister Potter,” the golden eyed flying instructor told him. “The Hufflepuff Quidditch Team have just finished their practise session and the Ravenclaws have the pitch booked from twelve. Have you ever been on a broom before?”

“Briefly,” he replied. “The shop where I bought my broom had a practise area where I could get a bit of a feel for the broom before I bought it.”

“Very well,” Madam Hooch nodded. “Right, then. Let’s see you mount it.”

Laying the broom on the ground, Harry placed his hand over it like he’d been shown and commanded, “up!”

Exactly as it had done in the shop, the nimbus leapt into his hand, causing Harry’s already every-present grin to widen. Then it was simply a matter of swinging one leg over and taking a hold of his broom.

Madam Hooch’s expert eye scrutinized him before she reached forward and readjusted one of his hands minutely and nodding in satisfaction.

“Right, then. We’re going to take it slow and steady to start with. Don’t want any accidents, do we? When I say, I want you to gently push off the ground, rise a couple of feet, hover and then lean forward to return to the ground,” she instructed.

Harry nodded his understanding.

“When you’re ready then.”

Bending his knees slightly, Harry pushed off. A feeling of intense exhilaration infused him at the feeling of flying, even at this incredibly low altitude. After hovering at Madam Hooch’s head height for a minute, he leant forward, guiding the broom back to the ground.

“Very well done, Mister Potter,” the flying instructor stated. “Now, when you’re ready, what I want you to do is to lift off to the same height and then fly around me in a wide circle. Once you’ve orbited twice, I want you to land once more. Just remember, this is not a race, a nice, slow, gentle pace is all that I want for now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry assured her.

Then, gathering himself, he pushed off, rose and began to fly. Harry quickly found that, while he was still guiding the broom with his hands, it was almost as though he knew instinctively what to do. Obediently, he kept his pace to little more than a walk although he was itching to go faster, much _much_ faster.

“Excellent, Mister Potter. Now, we’ll go back the other way,” Madam Hooch instructed.

And so the lesson progressed – circling, figures of eight, faster paces and stopping, different heights and finally, combining it all together.

“You handle your broom well, Mister Potter,” Madam Hooch stated once he was safely back on the ground. “We have a few minutes left, so the pitch is yours, but do remember that this is still your first time on a broom – nothing outrageous, if you please.”

After a quick agreement, Harry took off. He shot straight up, feeling the wind begin to whip at his clothes the faster that he went. As he reached the height of the stands, he leant to the left, taking his broom for a lap. Once, twice, three times he circled, each time faster and faster. Seeing the three tall goals nearby, Harry veered off, weaving in and out of them before hurtling down the pitch, through the middle ring, down, around up and back through the ring on the right.

Feeling daring, he sped up and pulled his broom completely straight up before pushing it even harder, up and over in a loop-the-loop, an exhilarated whoop of delight bursting from him. And then it was zigging and zagging around the pitch, in more and more erratic patterns the more confident he felt.

Blurs of blue and silver began appearing around him and he realised that the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team had arrived. A speck of gold caught his attention and, without thinking, he sped off after it. A sharp _crack_ of a robe signalled someone flying alongside him and he took a quick second to grin at the girl flying alongside him, her long black hair streaming out behind her.

With a laugh, Harry increased his speed, leaving her behind in pursuit of that elusive gold ball. Its movements suddenly became predictable and Harry reached forward, snagging it out of the air, laughing even more as he did so.

Spinning to a stop, he looked down at the struggling gold ball, its silver gossamer wings straining to get airborne again and he obliged it, tossing it as far away as he could, only to see the girl spin about and begin chasing it again.

The sight of Madam Hooch standing in the middle of the pitch, her hands akimbo instantly sobered him and he dropped to the ground.

“If that is what you call doing ‘nothing outrageous’, then I shudder to think what you’re going to be like if you ever join a quidditch team,” Madam Hooch declared. “But for now, you’re certified to fly whenever you’d like to.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:50pm_

_Wednesday, 23 November 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Carefully, Harry wiped the excess glue away, checked the clamps one last time and sat back. His eye ran along his work, evaluating it, checking for imperfections. Finding the beginnings of what will eventually become a display cabinet exactly as it should be, he nodded. He’d always wanted somewhere to display the figurines that he’d carved and tonight seemed as good a time as any to get started on the project.

The fact that he knew that he would be tossing and turning all night was simply a happy convenience. Hopefully, keeping his hands busy and his mind focussed would be enough to tire him out. He doubted it, somehow, but he could always hope.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow was the day.

The First Task.

And there’d be dragons.

Oh, Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman had dropped by just that afternoon to make sure that Harry knew that simply putting in a token effort would be enough to satisfy the Goblet that he was bound to. But, seriously, dragons? What was he supposed to do, just _ask_ them to do whatever it was that he was supposed to do?

Harry shook his head.

Yeah, right.

He could see it now. He’d go out there, look completely stupid and become the laughing stock of the castle. On the plus side, at least he wouldn’t lose his magic. And, he supposed, everyone knew that he had no chance anyway, so maybe they’d be nice about it. He couldn’t help but snort at that thought.

No. If he was going to go out there anyway, he needed to at least get something good out of it for himself. Dragons. It all came back to the fact that there were dragons involved. _That_ , at least, would be something. He’d get to see these legendary beasts. It’d be something to remember.

His eyes roved the workroom as he thought, contemplating the dragon that he was going to get to see. And then his eyes fixed on one particular item.

_Now, **that** , _he thought _, had possibilities._

It would definitely be something to help him remember the event. A lop-sided grin spread out across his face as he slid off the stool and crossed the room.


	11. Ramaranth

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:50am_

_Thursday, 24 November 1994_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

One thing that came from living with the Dursleys for all of those years was the fact that Harry’d learnt to survive with little: little food; little clothes; little possessions; little private time; and little sleep. It was this last one that Harry was currently thankful for.

After a night where he’d gone to bed late and then promptly spent most of it tossing and turning, he could honestly say that he was bone dead tired. But tired or not never got the chores done or, in this case, the Task performed.

Breakfast that morning was spent at the Gryffindor table, after all, the three real Champions had claimed the remaining tables as _theirs_. He didn’t eat much, but again, that wasn’t something that he was unused to.

Token effort or not, soon he was going to be facing a dragon and even his plan wasn’t without an element of risk, no matter how small it was.

“If the Champions would kindly make their way to outside the Castle,” Headmaster Dumbledore instructed, “you will be shown where to go to prepare for your First Task.”

The fork that Harry had been holding dropped with a clutter and he pushed his way up from the table.

“Good luck, Harry,” Hermione smiled.

“Thanks,” he replied automatically.

As he rounded the long table, Harry recognised the rounding applause and cheers that the other three Champions were being given.

Cedric, the one receiving most of the encouragement, looked quietly confident, if not a little shy about the whistles and cat-calls that he was receiving. Fleur, the French Champion strode out of the hall with her nose high in the air, as if those around her were beneath her notice; and Krum, the Durmstrang Champion acted exactly as if the renowned quidditch star expected to win and that there was simply no need for the others to even bother trying.

The foursome met outside the great doors to the castle where a bustling and beaming Ludo Bagman showed them the way to the Champion’s Tent. Harry couldn’t help but shoot a nervous glance at a particular bush that they passed on their way around the Black Lake.

The inside of the tent appeared much larger than it did on the outside. If Harry hadn’t encountered this phenomenon before, he would likely have tried to back out and walk around it, much like he’d seen people do on the show _Doctor Who_ whenever he’d been able to take a peek at the Dursleys’ television.

Each corner of the tent had been set up for a Champion with a chair and a small table filled with bottles of water and a couple of towels. The centre of the tent was left bare, and that was where Mister Bagman had the four congregate.

“Yes, well, now that we’re all here, it’s time for a few instructions,” Bagman stated. “The Task will begin once the stands are filled and the … er, objects have been placed where they need to be. You will compete one at a time and will be judged on how long the Task takes you, as well as how you accomplish that Task. In a moment, I will be getting you to draw a … a model of the thing that you’ll have to face out of this bag,” here he held up a simple leather sack, “that will also give us your order. Oh, yes, there was one more thing that I had to tell you: your Task is simply to _collect the golden egg_.”

Harry looked around at his fellow Champions. It was obvious that both Fleur and Krum already knew what was about to happen. Cedric, though, simply looked confused and eager to find out.

“Right, then, ladies, first,” Mister Bagman stated, holding out the bag to Fleur.

Harry watched her reach in, feel around for a minute and then bring out a closed hand. Once she opened it, he recognised a miniature Common Welsh Green dragon; one of the ‘tamer’ breeds of dragon, he remembered. Beside him, he noticed Cedric’s eyes grow incredibly wide as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

Looking closer at the miniature green dragon, Harry saw that it had a tiny collar on it with the number ‘two’ attached.

The bag was next offered to Victor who pulled out a model of a Chinese Fireball, complete with a collar proclaiming that Krum was destined to compete ‘third’ in the Task.

Next was a nervous Cedric whose face had gone strangely blank by the time that he pulled out the number ‘one’ dragon: the Swedish Short-Snout.

And then it was Harry’s turn. Thrusting his hand inside the bag, he closed his fist around the only thing that he could feel. Curiously, he opened his hand to find an exact replica of the Hungarian Horntail curled up on his hand. Slowly, it unfurled its neck, lifting its head to sniff the air, revealing the tiny number ‘four’ attached to its collar.

Harry stared down at it, a fact that the miniature dragon didn’t seem to like, judging by the tiny burst of flames that erupted from its nostrils.

With his eyes fixed on the dragon in his hand, Harry backed away, somehow unconsciously finding a chair to fall into.

The sound of the first whistle sounding, promptly followed by Cedric leaving the tent barely registered in his mind.

During the next couple of hours while he waited, Harry used the time to study the tiny dragon that had finally curled up on his table and gone to sleep.

His eyes roved over the tiny thing. It was covered in jet black scales, except, of course, for the parts that gave it its name. Those, the long horns and the myriad of spikes covering its long slender tail, were bronze. Its eyes, when it deigned to open them to check on Harry’s whereabouts, were a swirling yellow.

He studied its lines and marking; how each leg joint was connected to the rest of its body; the number of toes that it had, including what looked to be razor sharp claws; and even how its neck snaked around. This, he knew, would work as a substitute if his plan with the real thing didn’t work out.

“Mister Potter,” a voice roused him from his introspection.

Blinking profusely, Harry looked up and around. The tent, he found, was devoid of any other Champion, meaning that he’d missed the others leaving for their turns. In their place was a single Ministry official.

“Mister Potter,” the slim red-head repeated, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses as he spoke. “When you hear the next whistle, that’ll be your cue that your turn has arrived.”

Harry gave the young man a nod of understanding. Standing up, he picked up the closest glass of water and drained the lot in one go. A quick scoop of his hand deposited the miniature dragon into his pocket where he hoped that it went back to sleep. He checked his sleeves, making sure that his wand holster was free of any obstructions, not that it’d actually do him much good if he was forced to draw the thing.

Finally, he let out a long slow breath and walked to the front of the tent.

In the distance, a whistle sounded and Harry moved, not wanting to even wait a second in case his nerves got the better of him.

Emerging from the tent, he found that there was a short path between two towering stands for him to negotiate. As he stepped out from their shadow, he looked around.

The stadium that he found himself in was surrounded by massive stands, all filled to capacity with witches and wizards of all ages. In an instant, he’d thrust every single one of them from his mind. There were more important things to worry about right then: like the gigantic _dragon_ staked to the middle of the barren rocky arena in front of him.

The creature was easily four or five times the size and weight of a bull elephant and looked none too happy about its current circumstances. A massive metal band wrapped around her neck, links of chain falling away to where it was anchored to the ground.

Currently, the mother Horntail was crouched protectively over the clutch of murky brown eggs lying in the crude nest on the ground. Her wings were half-furled and her long sinewy neck was darting backwards and forwards as she searched for danger.

A hint of gold near one of her back legs marked the golden egg that Bagman had mentioned. He was supposed to get past _that_ and retrieve an egg from the middle of a dragon’s nest? Harry shook his head at the impossibility of the task. Whatever the organisers of this Tournament were thinking simply had to be either alcohol or drug induced. There was simply no other way that Harry could even conceive of that they’d come up with this absurd idea.

For a fraction of a second, he wondered how the other three Champions had fared before pushing the thought from his mind. That was something that he could find out later. Now, there was only his turn to worry about.

Supposedly, just by entering the arena for the First Task, he’d done enough to fulfil his obligations, but Harry’d decided last night that he wanted something more than simply walking in and out of this to remember.

Twisting his body side on, he lifted his hand back towards the way he’d come, pushed his magic and waited. What seemed an eternity later, but was in reality on a half-minute or so, a backpack flew through the air, coming to smack into his hand.

With a small grunt with the weight of it a counterpoint to the smile on his face from his accomplishment, Harry turned back to survey the ground before him.

Much of the ground nearby was littered with rocks and boulders making footing uneven at best. Frowning, Harry surveyed further afield, finally finding what he was looking for. With bag in hand, he slowly picked his way a quarter of the way around the arena, making sure to stay as close to the wall as possible. The dragon, of course, followed every move that he made not only with her eyes, but her entire head and neck.

Reaching the spot that he’d decided upon, Harry knelt down, placed the pack on the ground and began to prepare.

The first to emerge from its specially designed compartment was his easel. It was dutifully set up, and adjusted slightly to the correct angle. Next to emerge from the expanded compartment area was a two foot by three foot canvas that was already attached to a wooden frame. This was set in place before the pack’s extendable legs were pulled out and the bag’s neck opened wide allowing for easy access to the many tubes of paint and brushes inside.

A warning ‘ **Rroooaar** ’, followed by a jet of flame was sent in his direction causing Harry to frown somewhat. Although he was safe at this distance, the heat that the beast generated could be a problem.

Ignoring it for now, Harry removed his pallet and brushes and stood to survey his subject.

The dragon hovering protectively over her eggs, the rocky backdrop around her, was perfect. Even the mix of colours – black, bronze and yellow for the dragon; the sandy-brown and grey rocks and the murky-brown and glinting gold egg – would look perfect.

Reaching into his bag, Harry pulled out the special potion that he’d need to make this painting magically animated once he was done. It was actually a three-step process, the first of which – sealing the canvas with the potion – he’d completed last night. Today he needed to mix the potion in with the paints as he was painting it. The final part of the process he wouldn’t be able to finish for a few days, not until the paints were completely dry, and that involved giving the completed work one last potion seal before a spell was activated over the drying potion.

He’d just picked up his first tube of paint to begin when once again, a jet of flame rocketed towards him, once again accompanied by a massive ‘ **Rroooaar** ’.

_§Would you quit that§,_ Harry snapped, _§you’re going to dry out my paints too quickly§._

A second ‘ **Rroooaar** ’ was cut off in a startled strangle and the Hungarian Horntail took a step closer to him, her neck weaving even as her eyes never left him.

_§You Speak§?_

This time it was Harry who was startled, stumbling backwards and nearly tripping over a rock.

_§You can understand me§?_ Harry asked.

_  
§Yes, Speaker§,_ the dragon replied.

_  
§I didn’t know that dragons could understand and speak English§,_ Harry admitted.

A low rumble erupted from the Horntail’s throat, which, while sounding ominous, Harry took to be laughter, judging by the dragon’s next comment.

_§It is not I who am speaking your language, Speaker, but you who are Speaking ours§._

 

_§Oh§,_ Harry replied, before cocking his head in consideration. _§I knew that I could talk to snakes; I didn’t know that I could talk to dragons as well§._

 

_§A Speaker can Speak to any of our kind – dragons, snakes, lizards, turtles and the ones like lizards but who live in water§,_ the dragon informed him.

 

_§I think that last one might be crocodiles§?_ Harry suggested, then _§well, there you go, I learnt something new today§._

 

_§It is always good to learn more about the world around you, Speaker§,_ the Horntail replied sagely.

Harry nodded in reply, considering, his eyes switching between the dragon and his canvas.

_§What do you here, Speaker§?_

 

_§To be honest …er, do you have a name§?_ Harry asked.

 

_§I am honoured that you would ask. My name is Ramaranth§,_ she replied.

 

_§Nice to meet you, Ramaranth. I’m Harry§_

Ramaranth nodded her great head in greeting.

_§To answer your question§,_ Harry replied, _§I’ve been put in a contest. I’m supposed to be trying to get that golden egg that the other wizards put amongst your real eggs§._

 

_§Supposed to, Speaker§?_ Ramaranth asked, her eyes narrowed before she swung her long neck back to sniff at her eggs.

 

_§Yes§,_ Harry replied. _§But I didn’t think that that was a smart thing to do§._

 

_§Very wise, Speaker§,_ Ramaranth stated. _§Speaker though you are, I will not allow you near my eggs§._

 

_§I didn’t expect otherwise§,_ Harry admitted. _§Instead, I thought that I would paint your picture so that I would never forget the day that I first encountered a dragon§._

 

_§What is this ‘picture’ that you speak of§?_ Ramaranth asked.

Harry considered the best way to answer. _§A ‘picture’ is a way humans have of capturing an image of something that they can see onto a piece of paper or piece or canvas and then they can look at that one thing no matter how much time passes, it’ll always be the same. I can show you some others that I’ve done if you like§?_

_§That may help my understanding§,_ Ramaranth stated.

After placing his pallet on a nearby rock, Harry rummaged in his bag and pulled out his sketch pad. Opening it to the first page, a charcoal drawing of the playground in Surrey, Harry turned it to show Ramaranth before pausing.

_§Um, should I come closer so that it’s easier for you to see§?_ he asked

 

_§There is no need, Speaker; my eyesight is superior to all others§,_ he was told.

Harry made sure to show a number of drawings to Ramaranth: a bowl of fruit; a tree; a bird perched on top of a chimney; and even the beginnings of the drawing of Daphne that he’d begun a couple of days ago.

_§You wish to capture my image in such a way§?_ Ramaranth asked.

 

_§Yes, but I’ll be using paints, colours, to do it. It’ll last a lost longer and then I’ll always have an image of you with me no matter where the two of us go in the future§,_ Harry replied.

 

_§This seems a well thought idea. I will allow it§,_ Ramaranth decided.

With a smile, Harry got to work.

Oil painting wasn’t something that he had a lot of experience in, but he knew enough to be fairly confident that he’d do a good enough job. Concentrating on Ramaranth herself, Harry painted away, adding more paint to his pallet, mixing in the potion, mixing in different colours to blend to the right shade. He strokes were strong and sure; he knew that that was the only way to paint – tentativeness only seemed to make a painting more … amateurish.

As he painted, boy and dragon talked. Ramaranth told of her life back in the dragon reserve and the unpleasantness of having her and her eggs taken from their nest and brought to this foreign place. Harry shared about his former life and how he’d ended up in a strange contest in an even more bizarre world that he was only just beginning to understand.

And in front of him, his painting began to take shape.

Around them, Harry could hear the crowds growing restless the longer that he stood there, Insults were thrown at him, but he schooled himself not to react; it wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected it, after all.

_§Speaker, a wand-wielder approaches§,_ Ramaranth stated, her eyes indicating which direction this interloper could be found.

Frowning in annoyance at this interruption to his concentration, Harry turned to see Ludo Bagman creeping into the stadium, his back firmly against the wall.

“Um, Harry?” Mister Bagman called tentatively.

“Yes, Mister Bagman?” Harry asked, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice at the fear that the pudgy man was showing.

“Um, we can’t … we can’t declare the First Task finished until you leave the stadium,” Mister Bagman admitted reluctantly.

Harry eyed the canvas before him. It was coming along, the bare bones were definitely appearing, but it was still a long, long way from being finished. And while Harry’d known that there was no way that he’d be able to finish it in the time that he knew that he’d be allowed, he’d hoped to get a bit more done.

“I could be a while,” Harry hedged.

“Well, we really need you to either come out of there or to at least try to get the egg,” Mister Bagman told him.

Harry lifted an eyebrow at the man. ‘Try to get the egg’? That was different. For the last three weeks, he’d been told that he didn’t have to do that, that just by stepping into the stadium that he’d have fulfilled the contract.

_§What does the stick-wielder want, Speaker§?_ Ramaranth asked, interrupting his thoughts.

 

_§He wants me to leave or to at least try to get the false egg hidden amongst your own§,_ Harry told her. _§Neither thing I want to do. I’m enjoying talking to you and I still have a lot of work to do to get this painting to the point that I’d like to§._

 

_§If you wish to stay, Speaker, then stay§,_ Ramaranth stated, a rumble starting in her throat that Harry instinctively knew was a warning aimed at Mister Bagman. _§It is rare to speak to a Speaker and I do not want to give up this opportunity either. And I am curious to see this painting of me that you are doing when it is finished§._

 

_§I won’t get it finished today§,_ Harry replied, _§it’ll take too long§._

Ramaranth’s head tilted to the side slightly as she considered this. Suddenly, her long neck twisted around until once again her nose was amongst her eggs. When next she turned around, a glint of gold in her teeth indicated the egg that she’d picked up. Lowering her head, she spat out the false egg, allowing it to spin, bounce and roll across the ground to land at Mister Bagman’s feet.

_§There, Speaker. The wand-wielder has the false egg. He can go and you can stay as long as it takes to finish this painting of yours§._

Harry stared in surprise between the dragon and the prize that he was supposed to claim. _§Thanks, Ramaranth§._

“Um, Mister Bagman, the dragon would like me to stay here for now, so if you could take the egg back for me, I’d really appreciate it,” Harry called.

A bewildered looking Ludo Bagman bent down and retrieved the egg.

“Um, o…okay, Harry,” he stuttered.

With a nod, Harry turned back to his painting and to his even more fascinating conversation with a dragon. Who knew that being entered into a bizarre Tournament in a hidden society could bring with it such once in a life-time opportunity?


	12. More Slytherin Than Any Of Us

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:50pm_

_Thursday, 24 November 1994_

_Severus Snape’s Private Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Draco settled himself into the armchair that he usually used whenever he visited his godfather’s quarters. At the moment he was struggling to contain his feelings after the events of the day, not that he was sure that he could articulate exactly _what_ those feelings were.

The black robe of his godfather swished as he turned from the cupboard where Draco knew the man kept his drinks. His left hand held a mug of dark brown mead, the other a bottle.

Mimicking one of his godfather’s favourite expressions, Draco simply raised an eyebrow at the offered bottle of butterbeer. With a scowl, the offer was withdrawn in favour of the mead. Draco smirked victoriously as his godfather turned back once again to pour a second mug for himself.

“You are aware that you are not yet of-age, aren’t you, and that it’s illegal for you to drink that?” Severus asked as he took the second armchair.

Draco allowed himself a long, pointed sip before replying. “As if the rules applied to the likes of us.”

“An answer worthy of your Father,” Severus remarked.

The two sat there in silence then, both obviously replaying the day’s events in their minds. This was not an uncommon occurrence for the two. More often than not, they would spend at least one night a week together, discussing the happenings within the castle and within the wider magical world in general.

It’d been this way since the beginning of Draco’s first year, something that Draco’s father had thought would be a good way for the Malfoy heir to continue his tutelage away from the unwanted attention of the muggle-loving teachers in the school.

“I expected Victor to score higher,” Draco commented.

“His performance was by far the best,” Severus agreed. “He was the only one of the three proper Champions to remain uninjured. It was simply unfortunate that the beast destroyed its own eggs. Even Igor admitted that he had to take a point off for that; the Champions were told, after all, that the real eggs were not to be harmed.”

“Still,” Draco replied, leaving the rest of his thought unspoken though his meaning was clear to both.

“Potter made a mockery of the whole Tournament, though,” Draco remarked.

“Did he?” Severus asked, a contemplative look appearing on his face.

“Of course he did! To stand there _painting a picture_ of the stupid dragon instead of competing as a proper Champion should,” Draco stated vehemently.

“And yet, he got the egg,” Snape replied, his look deepening.

“The dragon _gave_ it to him,” Draco replied, waving away the observation.

Severus’ eyes focussed on his godson. “And yet, that _was_ the objective of the Task.”

The two sat in silence for minute then, both reliving the memory of how Potter had convinced the dragon to give him the egg.

“A parseltongue Potter, who would have ever imagined it?” Severus mused.

“Parseltongue,” Draco snorted. “He’s polluting Salazar’s noble ability even by simply having the ability.”

“And yet, how many of us would give anything to have it as well?” Severus asked, waving a hand towards the far wall, beyond which lay the Slytherin dungeons. “The last of us to have it was the Dark Lord himself.”

“And so he should,” Draco replied. “If someone should, then the descendant of Slytherin himself should have it. Not someone like Potter.”

It was at this point that Draco finally noticed the contemplative and slightly calculating look that his godfather wore.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“It is a well-known fact that at next year’s Sorting, Potter will join the school properly,” Severus stated. “What I am wondering is where he will be Sorted.”

“He’ll be another stupid Gryffindork,” Draco replied with certainty.

“Are you sure?” Severus asked, one eyebrow raised. “What makes you think so?”

“He’s a Potter. Where else would he go?”

“You don’t think that one of the other Houses would suit him better? Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw or even … Slytherin?” Severus asked.

Draco’s face morphed into a horrified visage. “Slytherin? You don’t seriously think that he’d end up with us? He’s not even a pure-blood.”

“I’m beginning to wonder,” Severus replied. “And purity of blood is not as much of a factor as we’d prefer it to be. Look at Davis; she’s a half-blood as well. Not to mention the handful of others. And after the show that Potter put on the first day that he was here, do you really believe that he doesn’t have the power to make it in the House of Snakes?”

Draco’s face grimaced at the effective way that Potter had proven his point. Not to mention that it’d taken him a couple of weeks of intimidation to re-establish the proper pecking order from those who thought that they were more powerful than he was.

“Power’s one thing,” Draco eventually replied. “But it takes more than that to make it down here.”

“What are the traits that make us Slytherins who we are?” Severus asked.

“Resourcefulness; cunning; ambition; self-preservation,” Draco replied automatically.

“From what I’ve seen, Potter may just possess those very traits. And when you add in his parseltongue ability, he may just be even more Slytherin than the rest of us,” Severus stated.

Draco’s horrified expression intensified. “How do you come to that conclusion?”

Severus eyed his godson contemplatively as he swirled the remaining mead in his mug before answering.

“From what I understand, Potter did not have to compete. Yes, his name came out of the Goblet, but he had the choice. And what he chose was to enter a competition in such a way to preserve his magic.

“He has also begun gathering allies: the Minister of Magic and Barty Crouch among them and then using them to his advantage. Consider how he used them to get out of Potions lessons with me after working out that I had no intention of teaching him anything.

“We know that he is powerful, even as untrained as he is. He could have used that power in the Tournament today. Instead, he succeeded in completing the Task _without casting a single piece of magic._ He had the blasted beast do all the work for him.

“He also has the best students in his age group tutoring him, students from every House at that. He’s making inroads to all the Houses, gathering allies and those useful to him. The rest of the staff are fawning over how quickly he is picking up his lessons and already they are contemplating what additional material they could introduce to him.

“Just imagine what he’ll be like in a few years: knowledgeable in magic; power at his fingertips; the fame that comes from being _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ and the one who vanquished The Dark Lord; allies and those useful to him in his pocket. What won’t he be able to do?”

Draco stared at his godfather and mentor as he contemplated the person that had just been described.

“You really think that Potter will be that powerful?” Draco finally asked.

“He already has the Potter money at his back. Once he delves into politics, the world will be his for the taking,” Severus replied.

“Just as the Dark Lord envisioned for himself,” Draco murmured, remembering all that he’d learnt at his Father’s knee.

Finally, Draco looked up into his godfather’s eyes.

“If Potter really is as Slytherin as you say, what should we do?”

Severus gave the dregs of his mead one last swirl before swallowing what was left. Even that didn’t alleviate the bitter taste that was in his mouth.

“Perhaps … perhaps we need to rethink our strategy for dealing with Harry Potter,” he admitted.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:05pm_

_Thursday, 24 November 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“You know, for someone who was told to keep their parseltongue ability a secret, you did a lousy job of following instructions,” Daphne stated dryly.

Harry gave her a nonplussed look over his shoulder as he led her, Hermione, Susan and Neville into his rooms.

A sigh of relief washed over him as he passed over the threshold. It was nice to escape. He’d spent most of the day with Ramaranth, chatting away with the Hungarian Horntail and painting her picture. Of course, he followed along when the dragon handlers had insisted that she be moved back to the pen that they’d built to hold all of the dragons.

That, of course, led to Harry being introduced to and conversing with the other three dragons. Not that Ramaranth was in a mood to share – she seemed rather proprietary of ‘her Speaker’ as she’d called him.

By the time that he’d returned to the castle, it was already the dinner hour. It was an incredibly hungry Harry who’d plonked down on the closest bench – Hufflepuff – and started to fill his plate. It only registered as he was spooning up the roast potatoes that those around him had either scurried away or squished closer to the neighbours and further away from him.

Looking up and around, he saw a myriad of people looking at him, staff and students from all three schools, and the one thing that they had in common was the look of fear in their eyes. It was only then that he’d remembered the conversation that he’d had with his friends the day that he’d arrived. Talking to snakes – parseltongue – was the equivalent to announcing that you were a Dark Wizard or, at least in his case, a Dark Wizard in Training.

 “It would have been rude to ignore her,” Harry retorted. “Besides, she surprised me.”

“She surprised you?” Susan spluttered, “what about us? The stadium was charmed, you realise, so that everyone in the stands could hear exactly what was going on in the middle.”

“And all we could hear was an awful lot of hissing and spluttering,” Hermione continued. “As interesting an ability it is, it sure sounds scary.”

“At least he got the egg,” Neville shrugged.

“Yes, tell us, Harry, how did you manage to convince a full grown dragon to do your bidding?” Daphne asked.

“Well, I didn’t really,” Harry admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “When Mister Bagman arrived and I told Ramaranth what he wanted, well, she just decided to give it to him.”

“Just like that?” Daphne persisted.

“Well, she did want me to finish the painting so that she could see it,” he admitted.

“The dragon gave you the egg so that she could have her portrait painted?” Daphne repeated, shaking her head before dropping it into her hands.

Harry stared at the long silky black tresses. “Well, yeah.”

When her shoulders started shaking, he looked in panic at Neville who threw his hands up in a gesture of ‘don’t ask me’. Next he swung his eyes to the other two girls, but before they could advise him, Daphne’s head lifted to reveal her laughter. Tears were rolling down her cheeks long before she managed to get it back under control.

“Who knew dragons could be so vain,” she wheezed.

“Well, let’s see it, then,” Susan said, indicating the pack beside his chair.

“It’s not finished,” he cautioned.

Nevertheless, he lifted the flap and pulled the canvas from the expanded inside pocket. Lifting it up, he spun it around.

For the most part, Ramaranth, the Hungarian Horntail dragon, was displayed in all her glory. Sure, there were still parts that Harry wanted to touch up and one or two spots that he hadn’t quite finished to his satisfaction, but overall, it was a perfect likeness. Below her feet, a rough sketch had been done of her eggs, the golden one prominently displayed.

“Obviously I haven’t even started on the background,” Harry stated. “I kind of thought that getting Ramaranth done first was the most important.”

“Well, that makes sense. You wouldn’t want a dragon mad at you at all,” Hermione commented dryly.

“It’s amazing, Harry!” Neville exclaimed. “How long will it take you to finish?”

Harry considered what he’d already done and what there was still to do.

“Hours. Probably a lot more hours than I’d like to think,” he replied. “And then there’ll be the finishing potion and the spell to add to it in order to animate it.”

“You’re making a magical painting?” Susan asked, her eyes round.

“Thought that I’d give it a try,” Harry admitted. “Of course, I didn’t know that Ramaranth could talk when I decided that, so I’m not sure exactly how much of her personality I’ll be able to catch with the potion and spell.”

“Just the fact that you’re trying is amazing,” Susan told him. “I don’t think that there are many magical portrait artists in Britain at all.”

“There aren’t,” Daphne added. “My grandparents wanted to have a portrait done of them a couple of years ago and they ended up having to commission someone from … Italy, I think it was. They didn’t think anyone in Britain was good enough.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to have his eyes go wide in astonishment. Mrs Jenkins, his old art teacher had always insisted he was good, that he had a real talent. Maybe he’d found something that he could do in the magical world? It was definitely something for him to think about anyway.

“But getting back to the problem at hand, you do realise that now everyone’s going to think that you’re a Dark Wizard, don’t you?” Daphne asked seriously.

“I know,” Harry sighed. “Is there anything that I can do to dispel that train of thought?”

“Time, Harry,” Susan replied, reaching across and patting his knee. “I don’t think that there’s anything you can do but give them time.”

“Just be yourself,” Hermione added. “They’ll soon realise that you’re a good person.”

“Being The-Boy-Who-Lived’ll have to help, I’d think,” Neville put in.

Harry gave him a nonplussed look. “I’d rather just be Harry. Just Harry.”

“Now _that_ is something that I don’t think that you could ever be,” Daphne stated. “And from what I’ve seen in the past three weeks, that’s not a bad thing at all.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:55am_

_Friday, 25 November 1994_

_Office of the Minister for Magic, London_

.

“Good morning, Minister,” a high, girly simpering voice said from the doorway to the Minister of Magic’s office.

Looking up from his paperwork, Cornelius gave an internal groan while plastering a wide smile on his face. Delores Umbridge, his Senior Undersecretary, had more than a few uses. She was the consummate ‘yes-man’ and willing to do anything that he ordered, suggested or even implied in the vaguest sense, thus keeping his hands clean from the muck that she either did or kept away from him. That didn’t actually mean that he like the woman; it simply meant that she was too damn useful to do anything but keep her close.

“Delores! What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect you to be working this early this morning,” he replied.

“If the Minister of Magic is going to be here working, where else should I be?” she simpered.

At his invitation, she approached his desk and hopped up onto one of the chairs across from it.

“So, what can I do for you this morning?” Cornelius asked, already knowing the answer from what she held in her hands.

“It’s the Potter boy, Minister. I assume that you’ve seen today’s _Daily Prophet_?” she replied, slapping a copy of said paper onto his desk.

Cornelius made a show of perusing the front page and Rita Skeeter’s article.

 “Yes, yes, I saw it earlier. What about it?”

“The conclusions that Miss Skeeter draws cannot be denied, Minister,” Umbridge simpered. “And I have to ask: is it wise for the boy to continue to be educated.”

Cornelius sighed, and decided to hedge. “Wise or not, there is little that we can do about it. Harry Potter has been declared an adult and, in terms of his education, it is Hogwarts that is in charge of educating our young, including Mister Potter.”

“But one with such Dark inclinations?” Umbridge protested. “Surely the Ministry should get involved and ensure that the boy cannot gain any more knowledge or power? We would, of course, simply be protecting our future.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Cornelius replied, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers as he thought.

Umbridge, though, simply couldn’t resist pushing her point. “The boy controlled a dragon! A dragon, Minister! And through the darkest of means possible, parseltongue. And we all know that parseltongue can only be wielded by the darkest of wizards. We could very well be looking at the next Dark Lord!”

“And the powers that he already controls,” she continued, “if it is indeed true that the boy can do wandless magic without any training whatsoever, what will he be capable of in the future? No, Minister, I feel that this is something that the Ministry needs to nip in the bud now. The public will surely thank us later.”

“The Ministry of Magic has no jurisdiction within Hogwarts,” Cornelius reminded the worked up witch. “We simply have no legal way to force Dumbledore to withhold education from the boy.”

A raised hand prevented Umbridge from protesting.

“What I will do is have Barty and Ludo go see the boy. They’ve built up something of a rapport with him. They can feel him out, see how dark he truly is and from there, we can decide what the most appropriate response should be,” he stated.

Umbridge stared at him, her face darkening in such a way that Cornelius knew that she wasn’t happy with this decision.

“If you’d like, Minister, I could begin preparing some legislation in the form of Educational Decrees, just in case they are needed,” she suggested.

Wanting to get the woman out of his office, Cornelius took the easy way out. “An excellent plan, Delores. Take your time and get them right; we wouldn’t want Dumbledore to slip through some sort of loophole if we have to use them.”

Umbridge hopped off of her chair, making little difference in her height. “I’ll get right on it, Minister. Good day.”

“Yes, good day, Delores,” he replied.

With a slight scowl, he threw the offending newspaper into the bin and got back to work.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:15am_

_Friday, 25 November 1994_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

After the way that everyone in the castle was avoiding him or staring fearfully at him or whispering behind palms while watching what he was doing at dinner the night before, Harry made sure to wait as long as possible before going down to breakfast that morning.

When he tentatively poked his head in the doorway, he was relieved to find that it was mostly empty. The only students inside wore black robes, meaning that there were no Durmstrang or Beauxbatons students there. And of those who wore black, there were only a smattering at each table, the ones who didn’t have an early class that day.

After a quick scan, he determined that the Ravenclaw table was the most empty, so that was his destination that morning. To enhance his distance from the Hogwarts’ students, he made sure to pick the most deserted spot at the table as well.

His eyes darted about from under his bowed head as he scooped porridge into his bowl, ensuring that he’d have some notification before anyone approached him.

A lone copy of _The Daily Prophet_ caught his attention and he reached along the table to snag it and pull it towards him. The first thing that caught his eye was a picture of him. It captured the moment where, beyond him, Ramaranth had twisted around, picked up the golden egg and deposited it at the feet of Ludo Bagman.

And then the headline caught his attention and he froze.

**He Already Controls Dragons; Just How Dark Will Potter Become? by Rita Skeeter**

In morbid curiosity, he couldn’t help but read the accompanying article

_At yesterday’s First Task of the TriWizard Tournament, all those in attendance, including this reporter, had a chance to see just what our future holds when the fourth ‘Champion’ entered the arena._

_This, dear readers, was the boy who killed You-Know-Who and was then lost to us in the muggle world. At the age of eleven when everyone expected him to return to the Wizarding World as a student at Hogwarts, he failed to appear. It was only after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire three weeks ago that Harry Potter returned to us._

_This reporter has always wondered exactly what young Harry was learning all those years in secret. And now we know._

_Where the true Champions of the Tournament tackled their task with true bravery and marvellous displays or transfiguration, charms or hexes to achieve their goals, what did the fourth ‘Champion’ do? Why, dear readers, he simply walked in to the arena, set up a diversionary tactic in the form of ‘painting’ and began talking to the dragon._

_That’s right, talking! At least that is what most would have us believe. In fact no one knows for certain what young Harry said, for they weren’t conversing in English. Oh, no, dear readers, Harry Potter is a parselmouth._

_By the time that he’d finished ordering the dragon to comply, it’d given the golden egg to Potter without a piece of magic being performed. And if he can already order dragons around, what isn’t he capable of?_

_Never fear, dear readers, this reporter made it her business to find out all that she could about Harry Potter._

_‘He can do wandless magic,’ one of his peers, who wanted to remain nameless, told me. ‘He can summon things really easily. And that’s without ever being taught anything!’_

_‘And you should have seen the show that he put on the first day that he was there,’ another related, clearly scared by what they were remembering. ‘He had a bunch of students line up, all of different status’ – purebloods, half-bloods and muggleborns – and had them do a simple lumos to show that muggleborns are even more powerful than the purebloods. But when it was his turn, he created this ball of light on his hand that nearly blinded me it was that powerful.’_

_There you are, dear reader, even before coming to Hogwarts, Harry Potter had been developing his powers, powers that are so strong that they scare his peers. And now he’s being taught even more magic. And when you add in the fact that there hasn’t been a light-sided witch or wizard who could speak parseltongue in recorded history, one has to wonder, why is Harry Potter being trained at all? Wouldn’t it be far safer to stop this burgeoning Dark Wizard before his knowledge grows beyond what we can handle?_

_Rest assured, dear readers, despite the danger, I will continue to investigate exactly how dark Harry Potter has already become._

Harry dropped his spoon, letting it clatter onto the table; suddenly, he just wasn’t hungry.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:40am_

_Saturday, 25 November 1994_

_Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Up here was safe. From what he understood, the tower was only used at night – either for Astronomy lessons or for secluded rendezvous. The middle of the day on a Friday meant that he was guaranteed to have the tower to himself.

He’d needed somewhere to calm himself down after reading that article. Just the very thought of it still boiled his blood.

_As if merely having the ability to talk to dragons or snakes or reptiles in general made someone ‘dark’_ , he thought savagely.

And, worse still, was the way that they’d made him out to be the next Dark Lord. As if he’d ever want to be anything like the … man who’d killed his parents, sentencing him to a lifetime of Dursleys.

The instant that he’d finished reading the thing, he’d dropped it and fled. His rooms were safe, but he’d felt closed in, trapped and he hadn’t been able to stand it. Briefly, he’d considered working on his painting of Ramaranth, but he didn’t want to take the risk of ruining it in his agitation. The thought of working on his display cabinet, too, didn’t fill him with the sense that it would calm him.

In the end, he’d grabbed up a block of European redwood, a wood perfect for what he had in mind, plus his knife set, and set off to find somewhere out of the way. A group of second or third years milling around the Entrance Hall discouraged the idea of wandering out into the grounds. Instead, he’d gone up, eventually ending where he currently sat.

From here, his back pressed up against the smooth stone wall, he could look out over the swaying treetops of the forest, the mountains in the distance and simply breathe.

His hands occupied themselves with the block of soft red and yellow wood, his knife steadily shaving off small pieces. Looking down, he could see the beginnings of one wing starting to emerge, a very familiar wing after staring at its real life counterpart yesterday. It seemed that before long there’d be a new animal to join his collection of carvings that he’d done.

Gradually, the longer that he’d stayed hidden up here, the more his mind settled. He’d finally calmed enough to begin thinking about the article rationally.

This Skeeter person was obviously some type of gossip writer, the exact type that his aunt loved so much. She’d be one to write just enough truth to satisfy her editors while ensuring that there was more than enough innuendo and slander to satisfy her readers. She could be a problem, but in essence, she was a nobody.

If it wasn’t for the labels that he’d acquired – The-Boy-Who-Lived and TriWizard Champion – he wouldn’t even rate a mention from her. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he’d become known as. In the muggle world, he was just Harry, a nobody who happened to have a couple of useful skills. _Here_ , in the magical world, he’d forever be gawked at.

The question that he really had to ask himself was whether it was worth it.

Was learning magic worth all the unwanted attention and slander that was going to be piled on him? Competing in this Tournament meant that he kept his magic. Not to mention that here in the magical world, they’d made him an adult.

Back in the real … normal world, he was still just a kid. But once the Tournament was over, he’d be close enough to fifteen that it wouldn’t matter. Plenty of kids lived by themselves at that age in the non-magical world. And he had the money in those vaults to be able to support himself no matter what he did.

With a sigh, Harry zeroed in on the question that he needed to answer. After this tournament was over, was it worth staying here in this world, or would it be better to go back to where it was saner, more normal?

At least he had seven months to come to a decision.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

**Omake of Chapter 11 courtesy of _Sandmanwake_ :**

_§Ramaranth, what's taking you so long out there? Have you figured out why these two leggers brought us all here for? Hurry and get back here. You take over comforting Racknar. Some crazy two legger did something to her eyes and caused her eggs to get crushed. You know I'm no good with this emotional stuff. §_

 

_§ Yes, apparently it they brought us all out here for some sort of contest. The two legger I was assigned to can speak our language and explained it all to me. §_

 

_§ Contest! Poor Racknar lost her children for a contest?! For two legger sport?! Did you eat your two legger?! §_

 

_§ No, I didn't. He's not really interested in the contest itself and is making a picture of me instead! §_

 

_§ A picture? What the heck is a picture? §_

 

... One explanation later. 

 

_§ Ramaranth, tell your two legger to let us see. In fact, have him make a picture of us also to take home with us. My cave could use some sprucing up. Is he any good with crying women? Introduce him to Racknar. §_


	13. An Offer of Dragons

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_1:05pm_

_Saturday, 25 November 1994_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry kept his face firmly fixed upon his plate. Even to take a drink, his hand groped blindly on its own. There was no way that he had any intention of even meeting anyone else’s eye in the Great Hall, let alone engaging them in conversation. Just a single full day since his spectacular rise to prominence as the nation’s newest parseltongue was nowhere near enough to dampen all of the looks, whispering, pointing and cringing.

If he wasn’t so hungry, Harry may have simply skipped the meal. In fact, he’d had half a mind to do so anyway, but if there had been one thing that the Durseys had taught him, it was to always take the opportunity to eat – you never know when your next meal might be.

Thus, he’d gingerly slunk into the Great Hall for lunch. His option of which table to eat at had been limited; indeed, he was hard pressed to decide upon a table that _wouldn’t_ be a bad choice. In the end, he took a gamble and chose Slytherin, figuring that a House with a _snake_ motif as their emblem were more likely to be lenient with someone who could actually talk to snakes.

Judging by the way that he hadn’t been hounded away the instant that he sat down, he took it as a good sign. The fact that those closest to where he’d chosen to sit immediately relocated, was a negative. Overall, though, Harry took it as a neutral stance and dug into his meal as quickly as he could.

“Harry?” a familiar voice sounded as he was finishing his last bite of his roast beef and gravy sandwich.

Swallowing quickly, he turned to look up at the speaker standing behind his left shoulder.

“Hi, Susan.”

“My auntie’s here,” she said. “She was wondering if she could talk to you after you’ve finished your lunch.”

“I’ve finished now,” Harry replied, wiping his hands on the closest napkin.

He stood then, dropping the used napkin onto his plate and followed Susan from the hall. They found Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sitting ramrod straight on one of the benches in the Entrance Hall, watching the comings and goings of the students as they passed her. Her eyes fixated on the two of them the instant that they’d left the Hall and she rose to greet them.

“Good afternoon, Mister Potter,” Madam Bones said.

“Madam Bones,” Harry replied, shaking her offered hand, “it’s good to see you again.”

She focussed then on her niece. “Thank you, Susan. I’ll have to ask you to go now, though. This will be a private conversation between Mister Potter and myself.”

Susan’s head swivelled between the two before she broke out into a small smile. “Okay, Auntie. I’ll talk to you later. Harry? Perhaps you could have dinner at the Hufflepuff table?

“Thanks, Susan, I’ll do that,” Harry smiled back.

Then, after a brief hug with her aunt, Susan disappeared up the staircase which had conveniently lined itself up to take her.

“How about a walk outside?” Madam Bones suggested. “Perhaps around the lake? There’ll be less chance of inquisitive ears that way.”

With a nod, Harry indicated the great doors.

The walk down the stairs from the castle and across the grass was held in silence, a silence that Harry found slightly uncomfortable.

“Your approach to the First Task was … unconventional,” Madam Bones said, breaking the silence as they entered the path between the lake and the Forbidden Forest.

“You saw?” Harry asked, looking askance at her.

“I did. Ministry Department Heads were given tickets to see the event,” she replied.

Harry cringed, then, disliking being reminded so bluntly about how many people he had performed for. What had been worse had been finding out that the Wizarding Wireless Network had broadcast a commentary of the event as well. When it came right down to it, he thought that it was safe to say that the entire country, and probably even further abroad, had been witness to his parseltongue ability.

“You did not break any laws, Mister Potter,” Madam Bones assured him. “Your ability is simply that, an ability, no matter what others may think.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry replied, though he was loath to believe her.

The two walked in silence for a time then, a silence that wasn’t broken until after they’d rounded a particular curve around a group of boulders that hid the castle from their sight.

“I take it you’re not here about the First Task?” Harry tentatively asked.

“No, Mister Potter, I am not. In fact, I’m here to give you an update on our investigation into how your name got into the Goblet of Fire,” Madam Bones replied.

“You’ve found out something?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Nothing conclusive, I’m afraid,” Madam Bones replied, sounding frustrated.

“So what have you found out?” Harry asked.

They continued on for a couple of minutes in silence before Madam Bones replied.

“As you are aware, the paper that came out of the Goblet of Fire with your name on it was torn from something that you had personally signed, most likely from a school assignment. That lead us to the fact that it had to be someone that knew exactly where you were. I then checked Ministry records and, until you agreed to come to Hogwarts three weeks ago, there were no records in _any_ department saying where you lived.”

“ _None_?” Harry stared at her incredulously. “But … but I’m supposed to be this big celebrity in the magical world, you know The Boy Who Lived and all that. And you’re saying that _no one_ knew where I was?”

“Ah, but you see, Dumbledore sealed all of the records pertaining to you. Even after you first refused to come to Hogwarts, he refused to unseal the records, despite all of the pressure that he was placed under,” Madam Bones explained.

“He could do that?”

“As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he could,” she replied.

“I was actually surprised that no one came to take me to Hogwarts after I didn’t show up three years ago,” Harry mused.

“Believe me, there were many who wanted to,” Madam Bones replied. “I think that the debate in the Wizengamot lasted for two days before your Uncle’s letter to Hogwarts stating that you weren’t coming was finally decided to be upheld.”

At Harry’s questioning look, she elaborated for him.

“Your aunt and uncle are your legal guardians and, loath as we were to accept it, he had the legal right to decide whether or not you came to Hogwarts for your magical education. There were many that wanted to disregard it, he is, after all, simply a _muggle_ , I believe the argument was. The idea of confounding your relatives and simply taking you was even seriously considered. However, ours laws are clear: the guardians of any underage magic user _must_ be honoured. The fact that you are The Boy Who Lived was not a reason to disregard our own laws.”

Harry mused on that for a time before deciding to simply shrug it off as water under the bridge and concentrate on the matter at hand.

“So, how did Mister Crouch and Mister Bagman know where to find me after my name came out of the Goblet?” he asked.

Madam Bones looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Dumbledore told them. It seems that he, along with Minerva McGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid were the ones who left you with your aunt and uncle. It seems that _they_ were the only ones who knew where you were.”

Harry froze and stared at the Head of the Magical Law Department.

“Are you saying that it was one of _them_ who put my name in the Goblet?” he asked incredulously.

Madam Bones turned from where she’d stopped a couple of paces further down the track.

“I won’t go that far,” she said, before holding up a hand to forestall anything that he might say in response. “However, those three _are_ the only ones who knew where to find you. That we know of, at least.”

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t believe that it’d be one of those three. Professor McGonagall was swiftly becoming one of his favourite teachers; from everything that he’d heard, Dumbledore was too much on the side of the Light to do something so irresponsible; and as for Hagrid, Harry still remembered their shopping trip to Diagon Alley together with fondness. And then a sour thought crossed his mind.

“Uh, Hagrid is pretty lousy at keeping a secret,” he stated.

Madam Bones’ lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “I am quite aware of Hagrid’s propensity to … utter things that he shouldn’t in places that he should know better. However, in this instance, we’re pretty sure that this didn’t happen.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“Simply by the fact that it took thirteen years before any attempt was made to harm you or to contact you in any way,” Madam Bones replied. “Hagrid has a reputation for telling things he shouldn’t, yes, but the longer that he keeps that secret, the less likely that he is to ever divulge it.”

“So it could be any of them?” Harry clarified.

“I’m afraid so. And, unfortunately, my investigation has now stalled. Without even a hint of evidence, I cannot requisition the use of veritaserum on them to find out who is responsible, not that it would be guaranteed to tell us what we need to know.”

“Veritaserum?” Harry asked, his head cocked to one side.

“Truth potion,” Madam Bones replied. “Unfortunately, Hagrid’s physiology would negate its effects and with how powerful Dumbledore is, I have to wonder how effective it would be on him.”

They walked in silence for a time then, passing the half-way point of the track and beginning their return arc towards the castle.

“Thank you, anyway, Madam Bones,” Harry said, “at least you tried.”

“You’re welcome, Harry,” she replied. “And rest assured, that, while my official investigation has stalled, I intend on keeping my ear to the ground. Hopefully something will turn up when we least expect it.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:45am_

_Sunday, 26 November 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry opened the door to his quarters to find a somewhat familiar figure standing there. He was only a few inches taller than Harry was, with powerful-looking arms attached to his stocky build. The neck of his dark blue shirt was opened down to his chest and his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. Oddly enough, he wasn’t wearing a robe at all; a thick pair of black pants of some strange leather and knee high boots of similar leather completed his ensemble. The man’s untidy flaming red hair gave away his family allegiant, as did the vivid blue eyes that all Weasleys seemed to have.

“Charlie, right?” Harry asked, causing the man’s nervous smile to split into a wide grin.

“I was hoping that you’d remember me,” Charlie replied. “Would it be alright if I came in?”

“Sure,” Harry replied, stepping aside.

Shortly, the two had settled in armchairs to either side of the fireplace in the small sitting area.

“How’s Ramaranth?” Harry asked the dragon handler.

“Good, good,” Charlie replied. “You have no idea how much you’ve changed things for us.”

Harry raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

“Just knowing the dragon’s names has helped us get along better with them,” Charlie elaborated. “It’s almost as though the dragons are _seeking_ ways to interact with us, just to get us to say their names.”

“It was the least that I could do,” Harry shrugged.

Charlie shook his head. “You’ve got no idea, do you?” Then, before Harry could reply, he explained. “Until you started talking to Ramaranth the other day, there hadn’t been a Dragon Speaker in close to two hundred years. We dragon handlers do the best that we can for the dragons in our reserves, but being able to _talk_ to them, that’s always been beyond even our wildest dreams.”

“Surely parseltongue isn’t as rare as that?” Harry asked.

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Charlie shrugged. “Here in Europe and _especially_ here in Britain, being able to talk to snakes and dragons has been very taboo – only the most Dark of wizards has had that ability. It’s not like that in India and Australia; there they love parseltongues. From what I’ve heard, a person with that ability can earn big money dealing with all of the poisonous snakes in those countries.”

“And I just announced to the entire country that I’m a parseltongue,” Harry sighed. “My friends tried to warn me, but …”

“Hey, if a dragon spoke to me, I’d be talking back to them, too,” Charlie reassured him. “Listen, forget what those idiots are saying. You’ve got a real gift, a gift that’s neither light nor dark or anything. It’s simply an ability, an extra language that others don’t speak. It’s a shame that other parseltongues don’t want to work in the Reserves instead of confining themselves to snake handling.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied. “I’ll try. It’s nice to hear someone thinking something positive about it for once.”

“Yeah, about that,” Charlie said before shifting slightly to pull something out of his back pocket. “This is for you.”

Harry took the slightly crumpled envelope curiously. Turning it over, he found that it’d been sealed with some kind of image that looked like a dragon’s claw with a stylized ‘R’ in the middle of it.

“That,” Charlie summarized for him while Harry read the letter inside, “is an open invitation for you to come to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary any time you want. All accommodation and meals will be supplied and there’ll probably even be a small fee for any consultation that you do with our dragons. The second page is an open job offer with the Sanctuary as well. Seeing as you can already speak to the dragons, your qualifications are pretty much already in the bag, but it also outlines what you’ll need to do if you’re interested in gaining proper qualifications.”

Harry read through the letter twice before staring up at the red-head in front of him.

“This … this is real?” Harry breathed.

“You better believe it,” Charlie grinned. “We wanted to get in first before the other Reserves started bombarding you with offers.”

“Others?”

“Sure. There aren’t many dragon reserves in the world, only ours, the Australasian Dragon Preserve; the Aztec Reserve for Dragons; the Draconian Sanctuary of Tanzania; and the Mongolian Dragon Park,” Charlie explained. “You can bet your last galleon that you’ll be getting offers like ours from all of them. Someone who can talk to dragons is worth way more than their weight in gold to us. But we reckon that we’ve got the inside track; we’ve got something that the others don’t, don’t we?”

Harry blinked, his mind whirling before the grin on his face matched the man’s across the table. “Ramaranth.”

“Exactly.”

“Thanks, thanks a lot,” Harry replied. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

“You do that, Harry,” Charlie said. “At the very least, come for a holiday and check us out. You can show Ramaranth her finished picture.”

“Thanks, I might just do that, once this Tournament is finished,” Harry replied.

“Great. Listen, I’d better go; we’re moving the dragons back home this afternoon and there’s a heap of work to do to get ready,” Charlie said, rising from his chair.

The two shook hands.

“Good luck with the Tournament, Harry and I hope to see you in the summer,” Charlie said.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:20pm_

_Wednesday, 29 November 1994_

_Harry’s Workshop Trunk, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry stared in horror at the thing beneath his hands. His heart was pounding and his breath was coming in short, sharp pants.

“What in the hell was _that_?” he questioned.

Daringly, he twisted the golden latch and let the sides of the egg fall open once again. Just as it had moments before, the egg began its high-pitched wail, at a volume to cause his ears to ring. After less than five seconds, Harry’s hands were scrambling to pull the sides of the open egg back together and to lock them into place once more.

His hand groped behind him before latching onto a comforting familiar shape. Automatically, he brought his arm up, his muscles quivering in desire to bring the hammer down on top of the foul thing again and again and again.

But he simply couldn’t do it.

Even though he had no intention of even trying to compete in the damned Tournament, he might still need the egg in one piece. Slowly, he let his arm drop before allowing the hammer to fall to the floor.

“Well, that was a waste,” he remarked. “Probably some weird banshee’s cry. _Not_ something that I ever want to hear again.

Hefting the egg, Harry crossed the room. It was nice of Mister Bagman to bring him his egg, and to inform him that he’d managed to score a whole twelve points in the First Task. But if this was the only clue that he was getting to the Second Task, then he could write it off now.

Shoving the egg into the back of the bottom shelf of the cupboard, Harry slammed the door and gave a short, sharp nod. Out of sight, out of mind, sounded perfect to him.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:55pm_

_Thursday, 30 November 1994_

_Transfiguration Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Excellent work, Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall said. “I think that we’ll leave it there for this evening.”

Harry barely spared the old transfiguration teacher a glance before frowning back down at his evening’s work. Four hairbrushes, each slightly more elaborate than the one before it lay in a row on the left side of the desk. All were made of pine with hard, plastic bristles. Conversely, on the right side of his desk, half a dozen pinecones innocently mocked him.

It’d taken him only four goes at trying to turn a pinecone into a hairbrush with his wand before he’d mastered it for the first time. As with his other charms and transfiguration lessons, he’d quickly seen that the true part of the magic lay within his own mind – the way that he imagined the finished product.

But when it’d come to completing the same task wandlessly, he’d failed abysmally. Each time that he’d attempted the transfiguration, the pinecone had shimmered and started to blur before promptly reverting back to its original shape.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, too much,” Professor McGonagall said, patting him on the shoulder. “What you’ve already been able to accomplish without a wand is nothing short of remarkable. I’m sure that with a little more practice, you’ll manage this as well.”

“Can I take a couple of the pinecones with me?” Harry asked.

“Certainly,” she replied, prompting him to deposit the remaining pinecones into his bag with a sweep of his hand.

“Before you go, Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, causing Harry to turn back towards her, “I need to inform you about the next event in the TriWizard Tournament.”

“I thought that the Second Task wasn’t until February and we only had that egg as a clue,” Harry frowned.

“While that is true, there is another event before that,” Professor McGonagall stated. “The Yule Ball.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Ball? As in dancing?”

“Indeed, Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall confirmed.

“I don’t dance,” Harry stated with a shake of his head.

“You do now,” Professor McGonagall retorted. “The Yule Ball will be held on Christmas Night, beginning promptly at six. Every Champion will be required to have a partner and will commence the evening with the Champion’s Dance.”

“I don’t dance,” Harry repeated, his tone indicating his panicked state.

Professor McGonagall’s face mellowed slightly. “As soon as you have a partner, Mister Potter, come to me and I’ll give the two of you some dance lessons.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest once again, only to have his jaw snap shut at the fierce glare that she shot him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he swallowed.


	14. Sane? Insane? It's All Overrated Anyway

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:45am_

_Saturday, 2 December 1994_

_St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London_

.

The face in the mirror was almost one that he remembered. Almost, but not quite. There were age lines around his mouth, eyes and forehead that weren’t there before … well, before. His long dark hair, now washed, cut and styled, had the first inkling of greys if one looked close enough, something that, as a wizard, shouldn’t have appeared for at least another decade. The cheeks, at least, were no longer sunken, making his cheekbones and jaw-line stick out comically. Instead, there was a healthy shape to them.

And then there were the eyes. They were as smoky grey as they’d always been, but now they held the lingering touch of his past. Haunted eyes, eyes that had seen far too much dread and despair; too many long, dark years with nothing to smile about, much less laugh at. In all honesty, his eyes had lost much of their vacant and horror filled echoes since he’d been confined here. But the past remained for all to see.

Stepping back, he took in more of his appearance. His clothes, a drab white hospital gown and white drawstring pants, looked comfortable on his frame. No longer did they hang loosely. He’d put on weight since he’d been here, indeed, how could he not after the trays and trays of food that they’d forced on him in conjunction with the gallons of potions that he’d been made to consume.

Physically, he felt fine. Better than he’d felt in over a decade in fact. A lop-sided grin appeared on his face at the thought. Really, how could he _not_ feel better? The Healers had had him doing basic exercises since he’d been brought here, all with the purpose of getting his muscles working again. He may not be up to running a marathon, or even what he was once able to do as an auror, but he was physically ready to take on the world.

Mentally, though, that was the question. Was he ready to leave here, to head out into the masses?

But the question wasn’t one that he could answer. More, it was one that he had no use for. He’d been held here for six months now. He’d been around Healers and Medi-Witches constantly; he’d had friends and family visit; Ministry officials had even dropped by, although in their case, it was as infrequent as possible.

And while all that was good and fine, there was one thing that was missing, the one reason that he was no longer in Azkaban; the one person that he’d _broken out_ for; the one person that he’d been kept away from.

His godson.

Harry Potter.

Sirius Black knew that he’d had enough of St. Mungo’s. While the hospital had been good for his health, both physically and mentally, it wasn’t completely what he needed.

Nearly a year and half ago, he’d broken out of the most secure wizarding prison in the world, Azkaban, with the express purpose of protecting his godson.

The Minister for Magic himself had inadvertently provided the impetus that he’d needed, giving him a newspaper with a picture of the rat-traitor, Pettigrew, on the front page. Finding out that the rat was sharing a dormitory at Hogwarts with Harry (really, Harry simply _had_ to be a Gryffindor, he’d expect no less) had been all that Sirius had needed to break out.

Knowing that it had been the summer holidays, he’d briefly stopped by Lily’s sister’s place to see Harry. The boy wasn’t as tall or as muscled or even looked as well-fed as Sirius would have liked, but he was a Potter, James again, through and through, but with Lily’s eyes. He’d stayed for a day and a night before moving on.

And then had come the real kicker: Harry Potter wasn’t a Hogwarts student! How that’d been allowed, he had no idea. It was something that he, as Harry’s godfather, was determined to put right, after he’d dealt with the bloody rat, of course.

Then had come the year-long game of cat and mouse. Sneaking into the castle; avoiding the patrolling dementors; even managing to enter Gryffindor Tower once, even if he did have to leave empty-handed in a hurry. And, of course, dodging Remus. His old marauder pal hadn’t known about the change in secret keepers, and Sirius was sure that Remus blamed him for what had happened to James and Lily.

And then everything had come to a head at the end of May.

Sirius had managed to catch the red-headed boy and the rat out after curfew and to squirrel them off to the Shrieking Shack. The fact that Moony had seen it happen from his classroom window and followed without alerting anyone else had been a blessing. And then Sirius had managed to reverse Pettigrew’s animagus form right when Remus stepped through the bedroom door.

Explanations, revelations and manly hugs abounded before Remus managed to stop Sirius from killing Pettigrew there and then.

He’d had to turn himself in to the DMLE, but with Pettigrew firmly in hand, it hadn’t taken long for the Ministry to arrange for a dual trial, a trial that ended with Sirius being exonerated and Pettigrew being found guilty and given the Dementor’s Kiss.

For one brief, shining moment, Sirius had envisioned striding from the building and apparating straight to Harry. The Ministry, of course, had had other ideas. They’d wanted to _compensate_ him for what he’d had to suffer for the past twelve years.

That’s when he’d found himself in the clutches of the Healers of St. Mungo’s Hospital. And they weren’t keen on letting him go, not until he was completely healed, mind and body.

Six months, they’d promised.

And now six months had come and gone and Sirius was itching to get out. Harry, he’d read, had returned to the magical world after being entered into the TriWizard Tournament. And he’d already had to face dragons in the past month! There was no way that Sirius had any intention of letting him face anything else without his godfather firmly by his side.

 As if he’d been summoned by Sirius’ very thoughts, the door to his room opened and Healer Kellingsworth strode in reading the chart that he was carrying.

“Mornin’ Raymond,” Sirius called, forcing his voice to sound jovial, rather than anxious.

“Mister Black. How are you feeling this morning?” Healer Kellingsworth replied.

“Fit as a fiddle and raring to go,” Sirius replied.

“That’s good to hear,” Healer Kellingsworth nodded. “And it seems that all of the Medi-Witches agree. Or, at least, the Medi-Witches are all eager for you to leave so that they can get a bit of peace and quiet again.”

Sirius grinned lopsidedly. “Well, if we’re all in agreement, I’ll just go pack my bags then.”

“Hold on a minute, Sirius,” Healer Kellingsworth replied. “There’s one more person who needs to agree before you can be released.”

“Oh? Who would that be?” Sirius asked.

“Me,” Healer Kellingsworth replied simply.

“And what’s your opinion?” Sirius asked lightly, repressing the urge to throttle the man that kept dangling the carrot of escape in front of him.

“Your progress has been remarkable. You’ve responded well to your physical therapy, you’ve put on the required weight that we wanted and your psychological sessions have been very promising. However, I’d like to see you have a little more exposure to the outside world and evaluate how you deal with it before we fully release you from St. Mungo’s.”

“And what does that entail?” Sirius frowned.

“Nothing more complex than having you spending time in the waiting room interacting with the general public,” Healer Kellingsworth assured him.

Sirius sighed. “Alright. But can you at least tell me when I’m likely to get out of here?”

The Healer smiled at his patient. “One week, Mister Black. One week, and if all goes as I expect it to, you’ll be discharged.”

One week? Sirius could handle that. One more week and he’d finally get to see Harry again.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:20am_

_Saturday, 2 December 1994_

_The Shore of the Black Lake, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“You know that you’re an idiot, don’t you?”

Neville Longbottom didn’t even turn when he gave his reply. But then, a two-fingered salute didn’t exactly warrant much attention.

Harry grinned and shook his head. It was winter; the snow was a couple of inches thick on the ground, less so under the trees; a faint wind took the edge off of any warmth that the paltry sun provided, but none of that was stopping Neville in his insanity.

Rugged up under three thick blankets, another two under him reaching up his back against the tree that he leant against, Harry watched his friend. Neville was currently standing thigh deep in the Black Lake, nearly bent in half as he did whatever it was he was doing with the plants under the surface. Supposedly, he was working on an extra credit assignment for Madam Sprout, but Harry couldn’t see how it was worth it – his friend simply _had_ to be freezing.

Giving Neville’s sanity, or lack thereof, up as a lost cause, Harry turned back to the current tome that he was reading. It was part of a set of seven that he’d picked up in Gringotts a month ago. Each of these was written by one of this parents. The seven journals – five from his mother, two from his father – had been sitting on a bookshelf in his family vault and, the instant that he’d seen them and realised what they were, he’d latched on to them.

Unfortunately, with the limited amount of time that he had for leisure pursuits here at Hogwarts, he’d barely cracked their spines.

The three thinnest, Harry’d found, dealt with subjects that he was currently studying – Potions and Charms written by his mum, and Transfiguration from the pen of his father. They were currently well above his knowledge and skill level, but he hoped that, even if he couldn’t learn much from them yet, that at the very least, it’d give him an insight into his parent’s minds and personalities.

The next three books were the personal diaries of Lily Evans, at least the first two were, the third was the diary of Lily Potter. His mother had apparently been one to record her thoughts and musings since her very first day at Hogwarts all the way up to her graduation, her marriage to James Potter, her pregnancy, birth and even the raising of little Harry James Potter.

Flicking through these, Harry’d been amazed at the varieties of different coloured inks, the doodles that she’d done and all of the little extras. The very first flower that James had ever given her, a lily, had been pressed between its pages. In the last, he’d even come across an inked handprint that apparently had been done by him when he was only ten days old!

And then there was the very last diary, the one that he was currently puzzling through. This one was supposedly written by his father, although Harry was certain that he’d seen _four_ different styles of writing between its incredibly fat pages. The biggest problem that Harry had was that there was only one word that he’d been able to read out of all of the hundreds of pages of the book, and _that_ had been on the front cover: Marauder.

Exactly what that one word meant was anyone’s guess.

From the scattered animated drawings that Harry’d seen, he _guessed_ that it was a book of pranks. And from the pictures of wand movements and potion vials, he assumed that some of those pranks were fairly elaborate. Unfortunately, even though there were hundreds of pages in the book, Harry had yet to even be able to see some of those pages. Some were blank, others were stuck together, by magic most likely. And all of the writing in it, from every one of those four different hands, was complete gibberish. There wasn’t even a familiar letter in there anywhere.

Sighing with annoyance, Harry replaced the thick elastic band that went around the book to hold it together and placed it on top of the pile beside him. There was simply no way that he’d ever be able to guess the password to get the book to reveal its secrets to him. Assuming, of course, that there was one in the first place.

He’d just picked up his father’s Transfiguration journal in the vain hope that it might hold the clue the he needed when he was interrupted by a squelching Neville.

“They’re coming along nicely,” he smiled. “I’d think that we’ll be able to harvest them in another month.”

“You’re insane,” Harry couldn’t help but repeat.

“ _I’m_ insane? Look, mate, I’m wearing three pairs of woollen pants under these,” Neville pointed to the all in one thick, leather pants that included the boots, “ _and_ two vests, a shirt and jumper. That’s not to mention the warming charm that I put on myself before we came down here. If you want insane, try out there!”

Harry’s eyes followed where Neville was wildly gesturing.

Across the Lake, bobbing slightly at anchor, lay the enormous shipwreck that apparently wasn’t, otherwise known as the ship of Durmstrang Institute. And on its deck, wearing only a pair of incredibly brief swimming trunks, was the Durmstrang Champion, Victor Krum. Harry’s mouth dropped open as Krum swung his arms about for a moment before stepping briskly to the side and diving headlong into the freezing waters of the Black Lake.

“I take it all back, Nev, you’re the epitome of sane. _He’s_ the one who’s insane,” Harry said.

“I know,” Neville agreed, hopping on one foot as he pulled off the thick leather pants. “And would you believe that he’s been swimming like that every day for the past week?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Yep. I’ve seen him swimming in the lake every day that I’ve come down here to check on the fanwort,” Neville replied.

“I guess that the lake isn’t as cold as the water back home,” Harry suggested.

“Probably,” Neville replied. “Although, personally, I suspect that he’s getting ready for the next Task.”

Harry looked up sharply at the other boy. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve seen both Diggory and the Beauxbatons Champion and her Headmistress down here staring at the lake an awful lot as well,” Neville shrugged. “Do you know what the Second Task is?”

“No idea,” Harry frowned. “Bagman gave me the egg that Ramaranth retrieved for me, but all it does is wail so loud that it gives me a headache.”

“At least it’s still a few months away,” Neville said.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed darkly. “If only that was the only Task that I had to worry about.”

“What do you mean?” Neville asked, plonking down beside him having finally divested himself of his water gear.

Harry stared at his friend askance. “What do I mean? The bloody Yule Ball, that’s what! McGonagall says that I have to go. And dance!”

“Ye-ah,” Neville said slowly.

“That means finding a date, Nev,” Harry groused. “How am I supposed to find a date? About the only three girls I know are Daphne, Susan and Hermione, and I wouldn’t say I know them well enough to ask to a dance.”

“That is a bit of a tough one,” Neville commiserated. “But I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you. According to Hannah who had it from Padma, Hermione’s already got a date. Not that she’s telling anyone who she’s going with.”

Harry stared at his friend. “That is not helping, Neville, not helping at all.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:25pm_

_Thursday, 6 December 1994_

_Ancient Runes Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Giving his sandstone one last gentle blow, Harry examined his work. His eyes flittered backwards and forwards between the sandstone tablet and the book in front of him. As far as he could see, the runes were identical.

With a smile and a flourish, Harry picked up the tablet and passed it across to Daphne. He watched as her critical eye examined his work in minute detail. Even after only four weeks being tutored by her, he’d worked out that she accepted nothing less than perfection.

“Very good, Harry,” she smiled, her blue eyes shining.

With a sigh of relief, Harry returned the smile. “Thanks. It wasn’t as hard as I thought that it would be.”

“That’s because you were simply carving a single rune in a very forgiving medium,” she replied. “Just wait until Professor Babbling has you carving a couple of dozen of them into marble or silver.”

“No, no that doesn’t sound fun at all,” Harry agreed.

Daphne flicked her long black hair back from where it’d fallen across her shoulders as she placed the tablet back on the table.

“Now, the rune you just carved means … ?” she asked expectantly.

“Colour,” Harry replied. “Specifically, the colour green.”

“In what language?”

“Norse,” Harry replied confidently.

“Very good,” Daphne praised. “Now, I want you to watch me as I carve some additional runes around that one rune.”

Harry shuffled around the side of the table to give her room to work. His eyes never strayed as Daphne picked up the chalk and quickly sketched an additional four runes. Satisfied with her work, she then began to carefully carve out the runes using different sized chisels and a tiny hammer and a small paintbrush to clear away the dust.

“Can you recognise any of these runes?” Daphne asked when she finished, her eyes flicking up to his.

“Two of them, I think,” he replied hesitantly.

“Which ones and what do they mean?” she asked.

Hesitantly, he reached out and tapped two of the runes.

“This one means ‘power’ and I think this one means ‘change’?” he told her.

“Well done,” Daphne praised. “The others are ‘activate’ and ‘touch’. Do you see how I’ve linked them together?”

Staring hard at the sandstone, Harry moved back around the table to get a better look at the carved tablet.

“It’s … it’s almost like a … sentence?” Harry said.

“Exactly. Runes can be linked together, like a sentence, to provide meaning and shape, not only in what they say, but in what they _do_ ,” Daphne explained. “Really, this isn’t something that Professor Babbling would have you do until after Easter at the earliest, but I didn’t think that it’d hurt to give you a little taste of what’s to come.

“Now, the way that I’ve linked these five runes together means that they will work together to produce an outcome. Can you guess what it might be?”

Harry stared at the runes some more, before darting his eyes to his tutor. He could see her eyes shining with excitement for the subject, but at the same time, she was the very definition of patience, allowing him to make discoveries, and even the occasional error, on his own. Feeling that he was starting to stare, he wrenched his gaze back to the task at hand.

“Well, the runes for ‘activate’, ‘touch’ and ‘power’ are linked together the closest, so I’m guessing that whatever is meant to happen will happen when something touches the runes?” he said. Seeing her nod, he continued. “The last two runes are ‘colour’ and ‘change’, so … when something touches the runic … array? … it’ll change colour?”

“That’s brilliantly worked out, Harry,” Daphne exclaimed. “Although, don’t expect all arrays to be that easy to understand. Now, let’s power it up and see what happens.”

Daphne pulled her wand from her pocket and touched the tip of it to the ‘power’ rune. A soft golden glow spread out, lighting up each line of the five runes before gradually disappearing. Then, reaching across the desk, she pulled a box towards her, reached in and plucked out a small, red rubber ball, which she promptly handed to Harry.

“Well? Test it out,” she instructed.

After one more look at her, Harry lined up the ball and rolled it across the desk and onto the sandstone. The instant that the red ball touched the array, there was a brief flash as the ball turned green.

“Wow!” Harry laughed. “That’s amazing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Daphne agreed. “That’s what the ancient Norse wizards once used, while we, today, use a colouring changing spell.”

Plucking another ball from the box, this one blue, Harry rolled it across the desk after the first, marvelling as it, too, changed to the colour green. He simply couldn’t help but laugh once more.

“You’re laughing now, but you’ll be cursing by the end of the year, just like the rest of us,” Daphne grinned.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“The end of year assignment for third years is to create three basic runic arrays, like this one, that all have different effects, in a unique way,” Daphne told him.

Immediately, Harry’s eyes shifted to the sandstone as his mind began to spin with possibilities. The box of balls caught his attention and it, too, was added into his calculations.

“Does it have to be made of sandstone?” he blurted.

Daphne’s eyebrows nearly disappeared under her fringe. “Not at all. In fact, Professor Babbling prefers that you use a different medium.”

Harry nodded. Wood, pine preferably for its softness and ease of carving. Perhaps a maze? Anyway, something that he could roll balls through, having them impact the arrays at different places for different things to happen to them. Yes, yes, that _definitely_ had possibilities.

“Thanks, Daphne, you’ve just given me the best idea of how to pass Ancient Runes this year,” he beamed.


	15. Awkward Conversations

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:20am_

_Sunday, 9 December 1994_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

As unobtrusively as he could, Harry peeked his head around the door into the Great Hall. As expected for this time on a Sunday morning, the tables were only lightly filled. His eye roamed up and down each of the four long tables before coming to rest on the one person that he was … hoping? … dreading? … to see there.

Mission accomplished, Harry retracted his head and leant against the cold stone wall. Really, there was no good reason for the way that he was feeling. He’d been psyching himself up for this moment for the past two days. But the way his hands had instantly become clammy at the sight of her, the way his heart had suddenly felt as though it was about to burst out of chest with how fast it was beating; the way that his mouth had instantly gone bone dry, making it impossible to swallow, all told him that he was _not_ ready for this.

Not that he had much of a choice.

Ever since McGonagall, and then Neville, had talked to him about the Yule Ball, Harry’d found it hard to concentrate on anything else. It was as if the sword of Damocles was hanging over his head, waiting for him to make a decision. He _knew_ that he was going to need a date, and the sooner the better: he still had to learn how to dance, after all, and he couldn’t do _that_ until he had a dance partner.

The thought of needing a date had led his mind instantly to his three tutors: Hermione, Daphne and Susan. Really, it only made sense for him to ask one of them; they were the ones that he knew best. And according to Neville, Hermione was already off the table before he could even think about considering her.

Oh, he could always ask someone else. But really, who was there? He only had two classes with other students and they were both with third years and when it came down to it, he’d just feel a bit funny asking someone younger than him to be his date. And the girls that he’d met at mealtimes were acquaintances at best.

No, if he was going to have to ask someone to the Yule Ball, he at least wanted someone who he knew at least marginally well. That meant either Susan or Daphne.

So, for the past couple of days, his mind had been debating which one he’d prefer to ask. The fact that he’d constantly pictured dancing with only one of them in his mind told him which one his subconscious had chosen.

And that brought him back to the here and now.

Once again, Harry stuck his head around the door.

Yep, there she was, sitting at her House table, eating breakfast while reading the paper. The table around her was even clear of others, meaning that when he made a fool of himself, it’d be in relative obscurity.

Sucking in a deep breath, he rounded the door and began forcing his feet across the floor towards her.

He’d only managed a dozen steps, though, when he was intercepted.

A waif of a girl he recognised from his Ancient Runes and Arithmancy classes materialized right in front of him causing him to come to an abrupt halt. Her long dirty blonde hair was today wrapped around her head in an elaborate knot, her wand stuck through the middle of it. Her ever present necklace made of butterbeer corks and radish earrings were in place, as was her overly large silver eyes that were, once again, unnervingly staring at him.

“Hello, Harry Potter.”

“Um, hi, Luna, right?” he replied, sneaking a look past her at his quarry.

A large smile blossomed on her face. “That’s right.” She cocked her head as she studied him, then. “Are you alright? There seems to be a wrackspurt infestation surrounding you.”

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Never mind, Harry Potter, I’m sure they’ll fly off on their own once you do what you came here to do,” she told him. “Unfortunately, that may not be now.”

“What?” Harry asked again, feeling as though this conversation had yet to even start making sense.

“I have a message for you,” Luna stated.

“Okay, what is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know, silly, I don’t read other people’s messages,” Luna giggled as she handed over a small scroll tied with a purple ribbon. “But I suspect that it’ll make your day a lot more interesting than you thought that it would be.”

“Thanks?” Harry replied, taking the scroll.

“Have a good day, Harry Potter,” Luna said before skipping off.

For an instant, Harry was torn: the scroll or sorting out his date? The answer, of course, was obvious: the scroll was sure to be less nerve-wrecking.

Harry blinked at the message in his hand.

_Now what?_ he wondered.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:45am_

_Sunday, 9 December 1994_

_The Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

His hand was still poised to knock when he heard the Headmaster’s voice from the other side of the door bidding him to enter.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, Harry stepped in and looked around. Immediately a sense of wariness swept over him. As expected, Headmaster Dumbledore was seated behind his desk. Standing to one side in front of it was Professor McGonagall.

Immediately, Harry’s mind recalled the conversation that he’d had with Madam Bones as they walked around the lake: one of these two were most likely the one responsible for his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire. For some reason, he simply couldn’t see Hagrid being capable of the powerful magic that he’d been told was responsible for confusing the Goblet into thinking that there were _four_ Champions instead of three.

Steeling his resolve, Harry stepped forward. It wouldn’t do to give either of them an inkling that he suspected them.

It was then that he noted a third adult in the room. This one had been sitting in a high-backed chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk but had risen upon his entrance.

He turned as Harry approached and Harry’s eyes swept over the unknown man. He was tall, at least, he was taller than Professor McGonagall and nearly as tall as Headmaster Dumbledore. His black hair hung loosely at the nape of his neck; a stray lock nearly obscuring his grey eyes, eyes that were regarding him just as intently in return. The man’s clothing exuded richness, everything from the silk-lined black cloak to the white satin shirt to the long, black pants and dragon-hide boots.

“Ah, Mister Potter, so good of you to come so quickly,” Headmaster Dumbledore beamed.

Harry simply nodded in reply, wary as to what these three could want with him.

“Mister Potter,” Dumbledore continued, “I would like you to meet Mister Sirius Black. Your godfather.”

Harry’s eyes darted to the man beside him.

“What? Godfather?” he blurted. “I don’t have a godfather.”

“It would seem that you do,” Dumbledore countered, his voice full of mirth.

“Hi, Harry,” the man, Sirius Black, said tentatively. “It’s … it’s nice to see you again.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Again?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I used to come around your Mum and Dad’s place all the time when you were little,” Sirius explained.

“You did?” Harry asked flatly. “Well, if you did and if you are, as you claim, my godfather, how come this is the first time that I’m meeting you?”

Sirius’ eyes darted around the room.

“I, uh, I made some poor choices the night your Mum and Dad were killed. Some choices that led to me being put in prison for twelve years,” Sirius explained.

As soon as Harry’d heard the word ‘prison’, he’d started backing away. Godfather or not (and he was still waiting for proof of that claim), this man was a criminal and he wanted nothing to do with him.

“Wait! Wait! Harry, let me explain,” Sirius begged, stepping forward. “I was innocent.”

“Go on,” Harry said, his eyes narrowed from where he’d paused half-way back to the office door.

“I don’t know how much you’ve been told about the night your parents were killed?” Sirius began.

“Assume nothing,” Harry told him, hoping to get a complete story from the man instead of bits and pieces.

“Okay, okay,” Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. “You know about You-Know-Who, right?”

At Harry’s nod, he continued.

“Well, we knew that he was after your Mum and Dad, so your parents went under the Fidelius Charm – that’s a charm that can hide the location of a place inside a person, a Secret Keeper. If you haven’t been told the secret, then you can walk right past the place and not even know that it’s there. Anyway, we told everyone that I would be your parents’ Secret Keeper, seeing as I was your Dad’s best friend and all, but really, we used a different friend; we hoped to confuse everyone and keep your parents safe that way.

“What we didn’t know was that our friend, Wormtail, was a traitor. He’d already turned and joined You-Know-Who,” Sirius spat. “He gave your parents’ location to You-Know-Who so that he could kill your parents. Well, that night, I got worried and went to check on Peter … er, Wormtail, but he wasn’t at his place. So, I went to your parents. But I was already too late – your Mum and Dad had already been killed.

“I’ll admit it, I lost it then, I … I should have … I should have stayed. I should have been the godfather that your parents wanted me to be. But I didn’t. I wasn’t. All I saw was red. I knew what the traitor had done and I wanted revenge.”

Harry stared as the story unfolded, never hearing it quite like this, picturing it in his mind as Sirius related it.

“I managed to track Wormtail down,” Sirius continued, “but the rat got one over on me. I had my wand on him and everything. But he yelled out to the crowd that I’d been the one to betray your parents. Then he blasted the street behind him with his wand. Killed twelve muggles before he cut off his finger and changed into the rat that he is.”

“Changed into a rat?” Harry repeated.

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “Yeah, you see, me and your Dad and Wormtail were all animagi – we can turn into animals. I’m a big, black dog; your Dad was a stag and Wormtail was a rat.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, amazed at this new type of magic.

“Anyway, that was when the aurors turned up and found me laughing at the absurdity of little Peter getting one over on me. They carted me off and threw me into Azkaban without a trial,” Sirius finished.

“And you only got twelve years for killing twelve people?” Harry asked.

“No,” Sirius replied, shaking his head. “I was supposed to be there for life. But I, uh, I broke out.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he took a further couple of steps away. “You’re an escapee from wizard prison?”

“I was. I was. But not anymore,” Sirius said quickly. “Long story short, I found Wormtail and we had a dual trial back in May. I was found innocent and Wormtail was executed.”

“So where’ve you been since then?” Harry asked.

“Hospital,” Sirius spat. “The Healers seemed to think that I needed six months of their tender care. But I’m out now. Got out yesterday, in fact. Stopped long enough to get some new clothes and came straight here.”

“You came straight here? Why?” Harry asked.

“Well, you’re my godson,” Sirius said as if that explained everything.

“And?” Harry asked.

Again, Sirius ran his hands through his hair. “I … I guess I didn’t think about it too far. I guess it’s a bit much for you, isn’t it – a stranger turning up, claiming to be your godfather when you don’t know him from Merlin?”

Harry nodded jerkily.

“What is it you want from me, Mister Black?” Harry asked.

“Please, call me Sirius. And, I guess, all I really want is a chance to get to know you and for you to get to know me. Do you … do you think that we could … could we do that?”

Harry stared into the hopeful look on the man’s face. His eyes flicked to Dumbledore and McGonagall, both of whom were doing a lousy job of pretending that they hadn’t been hanging on every word said.

Finally, he sighed. “I guess that we could give it a try.”

A massive smile erupted on Sirius’ face. “That’s great, Harry! Would you … would you like to perhaps … go somewhere and … and talk?”

“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Harry said, his mind still trying to process the fact that he was supposed to have some sort of relationship with the stranger standing in front of him.

“Being as it is a Sunday,” Dumbledore interrupted, “Breakfast will still be served in the Great Hall for another half an hour.”

“Would you like to accompany me to breakfast?” Harry asked.

“I’d love to, Harry,” Sirius replied.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:55am_

_Sunday, 9 December 1994_

_Third Floor Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

The two of them, man and boy, slowly walked the corridors of the castle. They’d been together since leaving the Headmaster’s Office, supposedly getting to know one another.

Breakfast had been a tense affair, full of long silences filled with large plates of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast and juice. Occasionally, one or the other would burst out with a random question for the other to answer:

“What’s your favourite subject?”

“Did you have a job before … ?”

“Can you fly? Your dad was an excellent flyer. Do you have a broom?”

“Do you have any family?”

“I read in the _Prophet_ that you had to face a dragon. I’ve never seen one, what are they like?”

Each question was dutifully answered, even if those answers were rather … succinct. And then would come the next period of silence as both sought what else they could say to the relative stranger seated across from them.

Finally, breakfast was finished and, in a fit of something to say, Harry had blurted out an invitation for Sirius to come back to his quarters.

“You look just like your dad. Except for your eyes, of course; they’re all Lily’s,” Sirius stated.

Harry looked sidewards at Sirius with a forced half-smile on his face.

“You knew my parents,” he said, “well, if they made you my godfather, that’s pretty obvious. I meant, I don’t know anything really about my parents. Perhaps you could tell me a bit about them?”

Sirius’ face lit up with a huge smile and his eyes unfocussed slightly as his mind delved into the past.

“Well, I met your dad properly on the Hogwarts Express in First Year. Oh, I knew _of_ him well before that, we were both from old pureblood families, after all, it was just that our families didn’t really mix that much,” Sirius began. “So, yeah, we met on the Hogwarts Express, him and me and Remus and Peter. The four of us became friends on that trip and when we all got sorted in Gryffindor, well, we became as thick as thieves.

“Your mum was sorted into Gryffindor with us, too, but we were eleven-year-old boys then and girls didn’t really figure into our lives too much. Well, apart from James. It was different with him. The instant that he laid eyes on your mother he was smitten. He pursued her for the next six years before Lily finally gave in. They dated all through seventh year and were married soon after graduating. And then, a little over a year later, you came along.”

“Sir Rogeric!” Sirius exclaimed, cutting short his story.

The old magical suit of armour, shield on one arm, wand clutched in his other hand, turned slightly at the sound of his name and bowed slightly. He pivoted slightly then to face Harry and his visor tilted expectantly.

“Rowan,” Harry said sotto voce.

Instantly, Sir Rogeric stepped to the side, revealing the door that lead to Harry’s quarters.

“So, they’ve got you in old Sir Rogeric’s room, eh,” Sirius said as they walked in. “You know, I expected to find you in Gryffindor Tower.”

“They wanted to sort me, but I didn’t want to take anything away from Cedric; he’s the Hogwarts’ Champion. And having two Champions from the one school would have caused way too many problems,” Harry explained.

“Yeah, it probably would have,” Sirius mused. “Well thought out and very noble. So, who are you representing, then?”

“My old high school, Stonewall,” Harry explained. “I know that it’s a non-magical school, but it’s made things a lot easier.”

Sirius nodded as he wandered around the main room, taking it all in. His eyes lingered on the partly filled bookshelf between the two closed doors for a moment or two before he moved on. He came to an abrupt halt, though, when he came face to face with the easel and painting set up near the window.

“Wow! Is that …?” he breathed.

“Yep, that’s Ramaranth, the Hungarian Horntail that I talked to in the First Task,” Harry exclaimed.

“And you painted that?” Sirius asked, his eyes still glued to the painting.

“Yeah. I finished it before breakfast yesterday. I’m hoping to animate it with a special potion and spell. I’m pretty sure that I’ve followed all of the steps right and I put the final coat of potion on it yesterday morning. It needs twenty-four hours to dry before the spell can be applied,” Harry explained before looking at his watch, “which should be in about another half hour or so.”

“I can help you with the spell, if you like,” Sirius offered. “I mean, I know that you haven’t had much magical training yet, but I wouldn’t like to intrude or anything.”

Harry stared at his godfather, a wide smile nearly splitting his face in two. “That’d be brilliant! Thanks! I hadn’t worked out who I should ask about that yet.”

The two grinned at each other for a few minutes then.

“Would you like to see my workshop?” Harry asked.

“Workshop?” Sirius asked.

Harry simply waved his arm in a gesture for the man to follow him. After entering his bedroom, Harry knelt in front of his ebony and silver trunk at the foot of his bed. Flipping the clasp, he touched the third rune and flung open the lid in what had become a very familiar routine. Then, after a grin at his godfather, Harry led the way down the stairs into his trunk.

Stepping to the side at the bottom, he turned to watch his godfather’s reaction. Sirius’ jaw dropped as he took in the room, from the huge workbench in the middle of the floor, to the shelves of wood, the cupboards, the tools mounted on the walls and his rowan desk on the far side.

“What is all this?” Sirius asked.

“My workshop,” Harry replied simply. “I’m good with my hands, especially at building things.”

“You make things out of wood?” Sirius asked as he lightly ran his hands across the different woods on the shelves as he wandered past them.

“Yeah. I learnt it back in Surrey. Uncle Vernon forced me to get a job; thankfully it was one that I loved and the guys who ran the place ran interference for me – teaching me the work and giving me a safe place to be while at the same time pretending to my uncle that they were working my butt off as nastily as they could,” Harry explained. “They gave me all of this as a going away present.”

“All of this?” Sirius asked, his eyes now fixated on the exquisite desk.

“Well, not the trunk, obviously, they’re non-magical and the trunk’s clearly magical. And not the desk so much, I made that myself,” Harry replied.

Sirius’ eyes darted from the desk to Harry and back again.

“You made this?” he asked, disbelief warring with awe clear in his voice. “By yourself? Out of wood, with your hands?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied nervously, quickly becoming self-conscious.

“That’s … that’s amazing! I’ve never met anyone who could do that,” Sirius exclaimed. “Wizards tend to just transfigure stuff, but I doubt anyone could magic something as amazing as this.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “It’s hands down the best thing that I’ve ever made”

Sirius stared at Harry as though seeing him for the first time.

“I don’t know where you get it all from, Harry, but it sure wasn’t your dad. If it wasn’t for a prank, he didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. Lily doodled at lot on all of her books, so maybe you got it from her?”

“Pranks?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“Yeah. When the four of us were in school, we were notorious for our pranks. Reckon we were the biggest pranksters in the history of Hogwarts,” Sirius grinned. “Called ourselves the Marauders, we did.”

Harry’s eyes bulged. “Marauders? Come with me!”

Without waiting for a response, Harry dashed up the stairs and back into the main room before pulling one of the journals from the bookshelf. He whirled around and thrust his father’s journal at his godfather.

“Do you know how to read this?” he asked excitedly.

Sirius stared at the journal in his hands, a look of wonder on his face.

“Where’d you find this?” he asked.

“In my family vault,” Harry waved off. “Can you tell me how to read this?”

In reply, Sirius pulled out his wand and tapped it to the cover of the thick book.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Sirius intoned.

Instantly, the gibberish on the front cover blurred and morphed into words that Harry could finally read: _A Pranksters Guide: The Marauder’s Handbook_. And underneath were the authors names: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

The second that Sirius put his wand away, he pulled off the thick band from the book and began flipping through it. Harry could see that all of the writing was now in English, not to mention that the blank pages had been revealed and the pages that were stuck together were now accessible.

“There you go, Prongslet, enjoy and make sure you put it to good use,” Sirius said, handing the Handbook over.

“Prongslet?” Harry asked, looking up at him.

“Remember how I told you that we could all become animagi, turn into animals?” Sirius asked. “Well, we all had special names as well. I’m Padfoot and your dad, being a stag, was Prongs. Which makes you Prongslet. At least until you learn how to become an animagus as well and you get your own name.”

“I could learn how to turn into an animal?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“Sure. The instructions are all in there. But I’ve got to warn you, it’s a long, hard process; it took us the better part of three years to work out,” Sirius replied. “Oh, and before I forget, to encrypt the pages again, simply tap the book with your wand and say, ‘mischief managed’.”

Harry simply nodded in reply, his eyes back on the Handbook that he was leafing through. As he turned a page, he hands on his watch caught his attention and he realised what time it was.

“Would you still be interested in performing that animation spell on Ramaranth’s picture for me?” Harry asked.

“Not a problem, Harry,” Sirius smiled. “I assume you know the spell?”

Putting the Handbook back on the shelf, Harry plucked a different book up. A quick flick through it brought him to the page that he needed. Taking the book, Sirius read through it and muttered to himself, his wand hand practicing the movements that he’d need. Finally, he nodded to Harry.

The two of them moved across the room to stand in front of the painting. Harry’s eyes roved over his work: in the very centre stood Ramaranth, her black and bronze body curled protectively over her clutch of eggs, her wings half furled and her swirling yellow eyes seeming to stare out of the painting, even in her non-animate state. Around her, Harry had painted the rock and sand arena, conveniently leaving out any sign of the stands of people watching the Tournament. The painting itself had been framed by an ebony frame that he’d made especially for it.

“ _Ex pictura ad vitam, animatum,_ ” Sirius intoned, his wand moving in ever increasingly intricate patterns.

From the point that Sirius tapped his wand on the painting to finish, a brilliant white light spread outwards in a fast-moving circle. Harry held his breath in anxious anticipation, hoping against hope that he’d followed all of the steps properly. Finally, after what seemed an age, the swirling yellow eye of Ramarath blinked.

A relieved laugh escaped him as he watched the painted Horntail shake her wings, blink again and stretch before quickly curling her neck around to touch each of her eggs lightly with her nose.

_§Ramaranth§_? Harry asked.

The Horntail’s neck whipped back around and her eyes swirled as she took in the two humans staring at her. Her eyes focussed in on Harry first, before switching to examine Sirius, and then coming back to rest upon Harry once more.

_§Speaker, it is agreeable to see you again§,_ the dragon said.

 

_§You, too, Ramaranth. I was hoping that this would work§,_ Harry grinned.

Ramaranth’s head swivelled from side to side to take in the edges of her painting.

_§I am in one of those pictures that you told me of, Speaker§,_ she asked.

 

_§That’s right§_ Harry replied. _§I’ve finally finished painting it and we’ve put the consciousness of the real Ramaranth that I met into it using magic§,_ Harry explained.

Ramaranth seemed to think about this for a time before she settled on the ground close to her eggs, appearing to be more relaxed.

_§It will be pleasing to have someone to speak to whenever I wish, Speaker§_ , Ramaranth declared.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, not having been looking forward to annoying even a painting of the great dragon.


	16. The Hope of the Wizarding World

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_2:02pm_

_Tuesday, 11 December 1994_

_Charms Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Movement from the corner of her eye distracted Daphne just enough to have her pause after leaving the Charms classroom. Beside her, her best friend Tracey, gave her a queer look, obviously trying to work out what had caught her attention.

Slowly, she turned her head, searching for what she had noticed. And then she saw him. Lurking in the doorway of the classroom two doors down was Harry Potter. He was shuffling his feet slightly even as he craned his head about, watching as the various Slytherins and Hufflepuffs left class.

Instantly, she knew what this was about. She’d noticed him the last couple of days, often nearby looking incredibly nervous about something. The first time had been Sunday at breakfast. Twice his head had poked in the door before quickly withdrawing and then, when it finally looked as though whatever he had on his mind had been decided, he’d been intercepted by the odd little Ravenclaw and whisked away.

Determinedly repressing the smile that threatened to appear, Daphne indicated the lurking boy to Tracey, who, for her part, grinned widely before immediately turning and striding the other direction.

Deciding to take pity on the poor boy, she turned to her left and began walking down the corridor.

“Daphne!” Harry called at her approach, an uncertain smile on his lips.

“Hello, Harry,” she replied.

“Would you … do you have a couple of minutes … to talk? In private?” he asked.

She’d been asked out more than a dozen times this year alone, not to mention the three invites that she’d already declined for the Yule Ball, so she was in half a mind to refuse his request, to make him wait just a bit longer. But this was Harry. His confidence wasn’t as high as he often made out. She’d seen the small, uncertain boy that he kept hidden behind his emotive green eyes.

“Of course, Harry. I have the rest of the afternoon off,” she told him.

She waited then, one eyebrow raised. Finally, he got the hint and opened the door for her. As she entered the room, her back to the nervous boy, she allowed herself a smile. He showed promise.

This was one of those rooms that was used only sparingly, which meant that, while there were desks and chairs set up, they were slightly dusty. A quick _scourgify_ cleaned the closest chair and she sat primly.

Harry, for his part, perched on the edge of a nearby desk before promptly jumping up again and settling into its chair. His leg, she noticed, was bouncing slightly.

“Daphne,” he began what she recognised as a well-practised speech. “I was wondering if you would accompany me to the Yule Ball. As my date.”

She was surprised. Not only did he manage to get it all out in one go without stammering, but it was actually coherent and at an appropriate speed and volume.

“Before you answer,” he continued, this time slightly more rushed, even as his cheeks reddened, “being a Champion means that I have to open the Ball with the Champions dance. I think it’s a waltz or something.”

When the Ball had first been announced, Daphne’s very first thought, before she’d had a chance to clamp it down and bury it away, was to wish to go with Harry. Over the past month, during their tutoring sessions and mealtimes, she’d gotten to know the saviour of the wizarding world and found herself intrigued. And not just intrigued, but a little attracted. It didn’t help that he was unobtrusively charming, as the gift of the unicorn scene that he’d drawn as a recompense for ‘standing up their tutoring session’ had shown. Not to mention that, as Tracey said more than once, he’s _very_ easy on the eye.

Thus why, even though she’d already had multiple offers for dates to the Ball, she’d turned them all down, hoping that the one who she’d most like to go with would ask her.

And really, she _was_ leagues above the competition. Harry was always going to ask someone that he knew. That meant that it’d either be her, Susan or Hermione. Hermione, she knew, already had a date and Daphne knew that she’d spent a lot more time with Harry than Susan had.

The light sheen of sweat that appeared on Harry’s brow, not to mention the increased bounce rate of his leg, told Daphne that she’d taken far too long to answer the poor boy. His mouth was just starting to open, most likely in an effort to withdraw the offer, when she beat him to the draw.

“I’d love to go with you, Harry.”

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed, a massive grin on his face.

“I take it you _do_ know how to dance, don’t you?” she asked.

“Ah, not yet,” Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But Professor McGonagall has offered to give me lessons. That’s … that’s if you’re willing to … to help me?”

“Let me know where and when,” she agreed.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_12:20pm_

_Saturday, 15 December 1994_

_The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade_

.

Even after living in a magic school inside a massive castle for close to six weeks, it was _this_ that really sold Harry on the fact that he was now in a completely different world: a world of magic.

Currently, he, along with his godfather Sirius, Neville, Susan, Hannah Abbot, Hermione, Tracey Davis and Daphne were squeezed around a table in the back of the popular pub slash dining establishment in the only all-wizarding town in Great Britain. Around them were dozens of people, both from the school and the village and, for all Harry knew, the wider magical community as well.

Overhead, paper planes that had been charmed to pass messages from one group to another flittered their way across the room. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that they were currently having to dodge a stream of sparkling fireworks that the Weasley twins had let off. The owner, Madam Rosmerta, was currently in the process of telling off the two redheads: her wand was flicking about, the tip of it glowing an ominous orange as she used it to emphasise her point.

Another obstacle for those paper planes was a continuous stream of ever increasing purple smoke rings that the ugliest woman … er, witch that Harry had ever seen was blowing out of her pipe. He was sure that the story books that he’d read when he was holed up in the library as a child would call her a ‘hag’ but there was no way that he’d dare to do so to her face.

And then there were the three men in the corner, the hoods of their deep black robes pulled up over their heads, only the tips of their greenish noses poking out whenever they took a sip from their drinks. The fact that those drinks were spitting and sparking a revolting murky yellow … something … didn’t seem to bother them in the slightest.

Dragging his attention back to the table that he was sitting around, Harry closed his hand around the large earthenware mug in front of him. Instantly, the warmth of the liquid inside seeped through the pottery and warmed his hands wonderfully. It was the strangest drink that Harry’d ever had, and oddly addicting. Butterbeer it was called, which he though was appropriate considering that it tasted like a hot butterscotch mixed with something chocolatey.

“I’m telling you, I got the fright of my life when he started spitting and hissing at the painting,” Sirius was saying. “And what was worse was when the _painting_ started hissing back at _him_!”

Around him, his friends all burst out laughing causing Harry to give a weak grin.

“What can I say? Parselmouth, remember?” he said.

“Oh, stop that!” Sirius said, reaching past Daphne to smack him on the back of the head. “What’d I tell you last week?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s the same thing these guys have been saying,” Harry replied, waving idly at the others around the table. “Parseltongue is just another language, simply for snakes instead of humans.”

“Exactly,” Sirius beamed. “And I can think of a whole bunch who’d love to have the ability, even if they’d never come out and say it. Most of my family for a start. Hey, I wonder if that’s where you got it from?”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“I wonder if you got the skill from the Blacks. Your grandmother, Dorea, was a Black before she married your grandfather Charlus. And Blacks have had a tendency over the centuries to pick up the most interesting of skills. My second cousin, Tonks, is a metamorphmagus, which tends to crop up in the family every couple of generations,” Sirius explained.

“Oh, I’ve read about that!” Hermione exclaimed. “Metamorphmagi can change their appearance simply by thinking about it.”

“That’s right,” Sirius said. “In fact, from what my cousin Andromeda, that’s Tonks’ mum, said, I don’t think that anyone really knows what Tonks would look like without her ability anymore.”

“It’d be nice if parseltongue was as accepted as that sounds,” Harry groused.

“I told you, Harry, give it time, people will get over it,” Daphne said, bumping him with her shoulder.

“Just think of all of those job offers that you got from the dragon reserves,” Susan agreed, “none of them had a problem with you being able to speak parseltongue.”

“Besides, you’re The-Boy-Who-Lived,” Neville shrugged, “people are always going to be talking about what you can or can’t do.”

“You’re going to need to get over the title, Harry,” Daphne said, noticing the face that he pulled at the mention of his title.

“I know,” he sighed, “but ever since I heard that title and how I got it, I simply haven’t been able to help thinking about what it means.”

“I get it, Harry,” Sirius said. “It sucks that James and Lily died. But you didn’t. You lived when you shouldn’t have. That’s a good thing! And not only that, you stopped a Dark Lord and ended his reign of terror. Everyone is always going to see you for what that means: you gave us all hope again.”

“He’s right, Harry,” Neville nodded. “My Gran has told me heaps about what it was like when You-Know-Who was alive and everything she’s told me was horrible.”

“The fact that you spent so long away from the magical world probably hasn’t helped at all,” Hermione commented. “And now that you’ve come back, I think everyone simply wants to thank you for what you did for them, for the hope and peace that you becoming The-Boy-Who-Lived brought.”

“I tell you, we could have used some of that hope the last few years,” Hannah said.

The other teens around the table nodded solemnly at whatever memories Hannah’s comment at evoked.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, a sentiment that he could see by the look on that Sirius’ face that he echoed.

“Let’s just say that our schooling these last few years has been anything but uneventful,” Daphne stated.

Harry cocked an eyebrow over his mug waiting for his friends to elaborate.

“Well, I suppose that we should start with first year,” said Hermione. “That was probably the _least_ eventful.”

“If you don’t count the death of a teacher as ‘eventful’,” Susan snorted.

“A teacher died?” Harry gasped.

Susan nodded. “Professor Quirrell. He taught Defence Against the Dark Arts. It happened at Halloween. From what little Auntie said, they never could work out how he died.”

“I remember that he came running into the Hall during the feast, claiming that there was a troll in the dungeons before he fainted,” Hannah picked up. “Then sometime after we were all sent to our common rooms …”

“Yeah, half our House wanted to kill Dumbledore for that,” Daphne said darkly.

Harry stared at her for a few seconds before it clicked. “The Slytherin common room is _in_ the dungeons.”

Daphne nodded before gesturing for Hannah to continue.

“The next thing everyone knew was that Quirrell had been found dead up on the third floor _without a mark on him_!”

“We had an auror fill in as teacher for the rest of that year,” Neville added, “but it was still pretty scary knowing that whatever had killed Quirrell was still out there.”

“I wonder if it was the basilisk?” Hermione mused.

“Basilisk?” Sirius blurted, his eyes bulging.

“Yes, well, that’s what happened second year,” Hermione said.

“What’s a basilisk?” Harry asked.

“A giant snake, like fifty or sixty feet long that can kill you simply by you looking into its eyes,” Sirius said gravely. “And you had one of these in the _castle_?”

Hermione nodded. “It petrified half a dozen students and then Ron’s little sister, Ginny, was taken. They evacuated the school for six weeks after that.”

“Aurors scoured the school,” Susan said, taking up the story. “They found it, in the end and killed it, though it killed fourteen aurors before they could do so. And then there was apparently some strange man there as well, helping the basilisk. From what I heard, they never did identify who he was, even after they killed him.”

“What about Ron’s sister?” Harry asked.

“They never found her,” Tracey whispered. “Alive or dead.”

“Third year was the dementors,” Neville shuddered after the silence stretched out too long.

“Dementors?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sirius said to the others before turning to Harry to explain. “They’re the main guards at Azkaban. Demons really. They literally eat any happy thought or feeling and their worst weapon is being able to suck out your very soul.”

“Nasty,” Harry commented for something to say.

“You’ve got no idea,” Daphne said. “I don’t think anyone in the castle smiled at all that year. They may have been stationed around the outside of the grounds, but when there’s over a hundred of them, their influence was felt in the very castle itself.”

“Why were they here?” Harry asked.

“That was my fault,” Sirius confessed. “After I found out that Pettigrew was hiding in the castle, I kept muttering in my sleep, ‘he’s at Hogwarts’. The guards thought that I meant you, thinking that I didn’t know that you weren’t there. Either way, it didn’t matter; they knew where I was going after I escaped and they planned accordingly.”

“Thankfully they were sent back to Azkaban after you turned yourself in,” Susan said.

“And now there’s the TriWizard Tournament where weird things are happening again,” Hermione said. “A _three_ school competition where _four_ names get chosen to compete. That, of course, brings you back into the wizarding world, Harry, and everyone wants to find out everything that they can about you and fawn all over you.”

“It doesn’t help with the weird things that you can do either,” Neville added. Then, seeing the look that Harry gave him, elaborated. “Your wandless magic; painting; _talking_ to dragons.”

“I think I see what you’re saying,” Harry said slowly. “Somehow I killed Voldemort, changing the world from the depths of war to peace in a night and then I disappeared. And while I’ve been gone, even more weird things have gone on and the fact that I can do even more weird stuff, at least according to the wizarding world, I’m … destined? … to be gawked at and talked about until they get over me coming back.”

“That’ll probably take most of your lifetime,” Sirius grinned. “You’re a hero, Harry, whether you like it or not and you mean a lot to a lot of people. Best to just accept it and move on.”

Harry nodded slowly before looking askance at the girl sitting beside him.

“You still sure that you want to go to the Ball with me? You know that everyone’s going to be looking at you just because you’re with me,” he asked.

“I understood that, Harry, even before you asked,” Daphne replied. “And I can assure you that my answer isn’t going to change.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:55pm_

_Monday, 17 December 1994_

_Transfiguration Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Come in, Mister Potter, Miss Greengrass,” Professor McGonagall insisted. “There’s no need to loiter in my door.”

At her urging, Harry led his partner into the Transfiguration classroom. Professor McGonagall, he could see, was in the far corner, bent over an incredibly old gramophone. Harry stared at it.

_They were going to be learning to dance using_ that _? Just how old were these dances?_ he wondered.

Straightening, Professor McGonagall eyed the two of them and then at her classroom, a frown forming on her lips.

“No, this simply will not do,” she stated.

Then, with a simple wave of her wand, all of the desks and chairs flew through the air, arranging themselves in orderly stacks against the wall. The floor of the classroom was now clear of all obstacles, a space that Harry stared at dubiously.

“Now, the Champion’s dance is primarily a waltz,” Professor McGonagall was saying, drawing Harry’s attention back to her. “However, I see no reason why we should limit ourselves to the one dance, do you?”

“Not at all, Professor,” Daphne replied. “In fact, the more dances that we can teach Harry, the more fun the night will most likely be.”

“I take it that you know the dances?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“I was raised in the old ways,” Daphne stated primly.

“Well, that should make our job much easier,” Professor McGonagall noted. “Mister Potter, the waltz that we will be learning is danced in a simple three four time, using a closed position and a simple box step. Observe.”

Then, to Harry’s great surprise, Professor McGonagall stepped up to Daphne, placed one hand on her waist, clasped her other hand in her own and the two began to move about the room. He tried to concentrate on their feet, he really did, but the idea of a teacher, and a female one at that, dancing with a female student, meant that his attention wavered somewhat.

“Very well, Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall said as the dance came to a close and the two separated. “Your turn.”

While Professor McGonagall quick-stepped across the room to the gramophone, Harry hesitantly moved closer to Daphne.

“Put your right hand on my waist and hold your left hand up for me to hold,” Daphne instructed.

The left hand part he could handle, but the right hand part, that was a bit more difficult. He had to touch Daphne’s waist?

“Do it, Harry,” Daphne insisted. “I’m not going to bite! I may just hex your bits off though if you make a fool of me by not learning this.”

His right hand moved instinctively to rest oh so ever gently on her waist. Immediately, the cuff of his robe slipped down, threatening to get in his way. With a frown, Harry stepped back.

“Harry!” Daphne said warningly.

“Just a second, Daphne,” Harry said as he shrugged out of the dark green robe, leaving him in just his grey pants, white shirt and stone grey and green tie.

After throwing it across the Professor’s desk, he sucked in a deep breath and strode back to Daphne. Then, before he could think about it, he placed his right hand more fully on her waist and grasped her right hand with his left. All of a sudden his boldness fled and he looked up tentatively into her shining blue eyes.

“That’s much better,” she whispered with a smile.

“Are we ready?” Professor McGonagall asked. “Oh, just a minute.”

From across the room, she twirled her wand in an intricate pattern before finishing with pointing at their feet.

“There you are, Miss Greengrass. That should protect your feet from unwanted hoofs. Now, on the count of three …” she said, starting the music.


	17. Formal Fashion Fiasco

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:20pm_

_Wednesday, 21 December 1994_

_Classroom on the first floor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Harry!” Susan yelled. “Freeze it! Quickly!”

Drawing his wand, Harry attempted to get a bead on the bird zipping around the rafters of the classroom. The thing was fast – damned fast. Instead of his hand moving smoothly as he tracked it, he found that he needed to jerk his wand from one side to the other, attempting to follow its movements.

Suddenly, the lime green and orange ball of fluff spun about on its axis and shot towards the door. Luckily, Susan was there before it, firmly slamming the door in it face. It was just the opportunity that Harry needed. The door brought it up short, pausing it in its flight.

“ _Immobulus_!” he cried, causing a bright blue beam of light to shoot from his wand to strike the bird square on.

“Well done, Harry,” Susan panted. “Hold it there.”

With a nod, Harry kept his wand trained on the bird, ensuring that it remained frozen in mid-air. This charm that froze living creatures that Professor Flitwick had taught him was prone to allowing gravity or momentum affect the creature that had been immobilised, thus, he’d been taught that it was imperative that he keep focussed, lest the bird in this case, plummet to the floor.

Within seconds, Susan was back with the cage in her hands. Carefully, she plucked the bird out of the air before stuffing it back inside the cage and firmly locking the door.

“I think that we’d better observe the fwooper from _inside_ its cage,” she commented dryly.

Harry agreed, giving her a nod combined with a lop-sided grin.

“Well, there you go, Harry,” Susan said, placing the cage onto the nearest table. “I’m supposed to be teaching you Care of Magical Creatures and I’ve already learnt something tonight – fwoopers are incredibly fast.”

“I would have thought that it would have made some sort of noise when it slammed head-first into that door,” Harry commented.

“Silencing charm,” Susan replied, “by law, all fwoopers in captivity have to have a silencing charm applied to them monthly.”

Harry cocked his head at her. “Why’s that?”

“Because if you hear their call, it can drive you insane,” Susan replied simply.

“Good law,” Harry said.

Susan grinned at him. “Don’t tell my auntie this, but I think that it’s actually one of the few laws that actually make sense.”

“My lips are sealed,” Harry replied, pulling an imaginary zip across his mouth.

“Right then. Fwoopers,” Susan said, gesturing to the bird sitting on the cage staring menacingly at the pair of them. “They’re a native of Africa and classed as a XXX beast, so not too dangerous since all it takes to ensure that you’re safe is knowing how to perform a silencing charm.”

“A fourth year charm?” Harry asked.

“Fifth year,” Susan corrected.

“Is there anything else special about them apart from their ability to send people insane?” Harry asked.

“Not really,” Susan replied. “Their feathers make good quills and their eggs are incredibly pretty. I guess that’s about it, really. They’re easy to identify, though, which is something. I don’t know of any other birds that come in bright pink, lime green, orange and yellow feathers like they do.”

Harry nodded absently as he jotted notes in his notebook about the magical bird.

“If they’re from Africa, then it’s not likely that I’ll come across them all that often,” Harry said.

“No, but seeing as Hagrid managed to borrow this one from a friend of his, it gave us a chance to see one up close,” Susan replied.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Susan sidling up to look over his shoulder at the sketch that Harry was doing of the fwooper.

“I know that I’ve told you this before, but you’re a really good artist,” Susan commented.

“Thanks,” Harry replied.

Shifting his eyes slightly, he watched as Susan’s eyes darted from his notebook to the fwooper and back again, a slightly wistful look on her face. He’d seen that look before on other faces.

“Would you like me to do you a picture of the fwooper,” he offered.

Immediately, Susan’s whole face lit up. “You’d do that for me?”

With a nod, Harry bent to his ever-present book bag where he pulled out his sketch pad and some pastels.

“Thank you, Harry,” Susan beamed. “I’ve seen the one that you gave Daphne and it was amazing!”

Harry simply gave a small smile. Particularly since his magical painting of Ramaranth had been finished, he’d been finding more and more people interested in his art skills.

“So, you and Daphne, huh?” Susan said unexpectedly.

Harry blinked at her. “Me and Daphne, what?”

“You asked her to the ball,” Susan said.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed slowly.

“So, do you like her?” Susan asked.

Harry stared at the red-head. He never would have pegged her for the gossipy girl type.

“We’re friends,” he replied succinctly.

“And?” Susan prompted.

“And nothing,” Harry replied, before sighing.

He’d known that he and Daphne going to the ball together was going to have people talking, he’d just hoped that his friends wouldn’t be part of that crowd.

“We’ve only known each other for six weeks,” Harry said. “We’re going as friends, nothing more.”

Instantly, Susan’s demeanour changed. “I’m glad, Harry. And I’m sorry about that. I just thought that you could do with some testing for when some of the other girls, like Lavender and Parvati, begin questioning you.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he considered her tactic. Finally, he gave a single nod.

“One piece of advice, Harry and then I’ll shut up about it,” Susan said. At his raised eyebrows, she continued. “Daphne comes from a family steeped in the old ways, so etiquette and manners are very important. Treat her right.”

“I will,” he promised.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:05pm_

_Friday, 23 December 1994_

_Transfiguration classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

The music echoing around the classroom ended and Harry brought Daphne to a bit of a jerky halt. He was breathing hard and he was sure that his feet were going to be killing him later. Perhaps he could get one of the elves to give him a bucket of something so that he could soak them.

“Much better, Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Yes, Harry, you didn’t step on my feet nearly as much that time,” Daphne said dryly.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, then. “I don’t know about this foxtrot thing. It may _look_ a bit like the waltz, but it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know that the tempo is quicker, but you are coming along nicely,” Professor McGonagall told him. “Your waltz is adequate and if we can squeeze in one or two more practices before the ball, then your foxtrot will also pass muster.”

“It’s a shame that we don’t have time to learn a couple of the others,” Daphne sighed. “Assuming that the charm that Professor McGonagall placed on my feet held, I’d be interested in seeing how you do with the tango or the quickstep.”

“Perhaps if Mister Potter had asked you earlier we might have had the time to at least try them,” Professor McGonagall stated.

“Two’s enough, isn’t it?” Harry cut in.

“Two will be the bare minimum,” Daphne told him. “That won’t get you out of dancing to some of the more modern songs. Just remember, I expect you to make sure that I have a good time.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Harry replied quickly.

“At least we can all be assured that when every eye is on the pair of you, that you won’t make a fool of yourselves,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Speaking of which,” Daphne said before walking across the room to where she’d dropped her bag when they’d first arrived.

Within a minute, she was back and handing Harry a swatch of cloth.

Harry looked curiously at the small sample of midnight blue silk. Looking up at her, he raised his eyebrows in question.

“ _That_ , Harry, is a sample of the fabric of the dress that I’ll be wearing for the ball,” Daphne explained. “I expect your dress robes to complement it accordingly.”

“Neville and I are heading into Hogsmeade tomorrow,” Harry told her. “I’ll make sure I take it with me.”

“Excellent,” Professor McGonagall broke in. “Now, I think that the two of you have had enough of a break, so, shall we try the foxtrot once more?”

Without waiting for an answer, she strode across the room towards the gramophone. Without prompting, Harry lifted his left hand and slid his right hand around Daphne to rest on the middle of her back. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever get used to holding her this close, but he had to admit, at least to himself, that he was quickly coming to like it.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:50am_

_Saturday, 24 December 1994_

_Gladrags Wizardwear, Hogsmeade_

.

Harry looked up at the ancient looking store dubiously. _This_ is where he was expected to buy his fancy clothes for the Yule Ball? From what he’d been told, the Yule Ball was _the_ event of the year, probably of the decade for he and his peers and they were all expected to be wearing incredibly formal clothes. But this place, _Gladrags Wizardwear,_ only looked as though it stocked casual wear for the incredibly out of date magical population.

“Come on, Harry,” Neville said, reaching back to grab a fistful of Harry’s jumper and pulling him forward. “They keep dress robes and formal wear on the second level.”

Obediently, Harry followed his friend through the maze of racks and stands of robes, jumpers, brightly coloured socks and pointed hats towards the circular stairs in the back corner. They were only four rungs from the second level when they hit the line. It seemed that, even after Neville making him bolt his breakfast so that they could get the first round of carriages taking students to Hogsmeade, that they’d still hadn’t quite beaten the crowds.

As Harry waited behind his friend, his hand slipped into his pocket for the umpteenth time to feel the smooth piece of silk that Daphne had given him.

“Now what would you like, dear?” Harry heard one of the sales-witches ask someone ahead of him.

Shifting up onto his toes, he peered around the heads in front trying to see what was ahead of him.

From what he could see, there were three witches stationed about the room. Two of them seemed to be dedicated to girls, the other for the boys. Each customer was standing on a little raised platform beside a curtained off changing room. Measuring tapes flitted about by themselves, measuring every part of the customer that they could, while a quill seemed to be charmed to write down the measurement.

Harry’s head swivelled from side to side as he tried to get a look at the dresses, suits and tuxedos that he expected to be on offer. But, while there were dozens of racks all around the room, every single one of them seemed filled with dresses.

Frowning, he stepped slightly out of line, his head swivelling even more wildly from side to side.

“Hey, Nev, where’s the tuxedos?” he asked.

“Tuxedos?” Neville asked, confusion written all over his face. “What’s that?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to stare confusedly at Neville.

“You know, Neville, tuxedo. What guys wear to fancy balls,” Harry tried to explain.

“Oh, you mean dress robes,” Neville said. “They’re over there.”

Harry’s eyes followed Neville’s pointing arm. And then they narrowed. The only thing that Harry could see were racks and racks of what looked like girls’ dresses. And then it dawned on him.

Dress robes.

Dress _robes_.

Robes, as in what he wore over his school clothes to fit in.

Taking a closer look, Harry examined the racks again. Yes, these were a lot like those robes, only a lot fancier and, instead of having the option of leaving them open like a weird-looking trench coat, _these_ robes had the front of them made so that they _couldn’t_ open. Thus, his mistake in thinking that they were dresses.

But then, they _were_ called _dress_ robes _._

Harry quickly scanned rack after rack. Yes. Every single one of them were filled with robes that, while being different colours and different styles and different highlights, were all basically the same.

“Ah, Nev? Do all dress robes look like that?” he asked tentatively. “I mean, are there some that look more like what we wear with our uniforms?”

“These are dress robes, Harry,” Neville replied, sounding somewhat confused. “All dress robes are basically the same.”

Harry stared at him. He was expected to wear a dress to a formal ball? No. No, there was no way that _that_ was going to happen.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Nev,” Harry said, wheeling about.

“Harry?” Neville called as Harry descended the stairs.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:15am_

_Saturday, 24 December 1994_

_The Leaky Cauldron, London_

.

Harry stepped from the FLOO into the dark, dingy _Leaky Cauldron_. At this time of the day, the pub was only lightly occupied, meaning that his appearance was barely noticed. Whirling about, Harry headed for the door, brushing the soot from his hair and shoulders as he did so.

Leaving the pub, Harry looked up and down the street. Charing Cross Road looked a lot different from the small town road that he’d just left in Hogsmeade. For one thing, here the streets, cars and shops were clear of snow, unlike the blanket of snow that covered the little wizarding village. Another difference was the number of people about. While Hogsmeade was busy, it was only busy in terms of the size of the town. If the same number of people were dropped into Charing Cross Road, they’d barely make a dent in the crowds.

Picking a direction at random, Harry set off down the road, his head swivelling backwards and forwards as he looked for a likely-looking store. It took nearly twenty minutes of walking, but finally, he found exactly what he was looking for, at least if the dummy in the window was anything to go by.

A small tinkling bell sounded as he opened the polished wooden door and stepped inside.

_This_ , he sighed, _is more like it_.

The store was entirely dedicated to men’s wear. Shirts, pants, jackets, vests and shoes lined the walls, shelves and racks. Dotted here and there were dummies wearing the latest fashion, be it casual slacks, long sleeve shirts and jumpers, or business suits or more formal wear.

Identifying the section that he wanted, Harry began wandering his way there.

“May I help you?”

Harry turned to see an older gentleman, his black suit immaculately crisp and pressed, his maroon tie straight against his white shirt.

“I hope so,” Harry replied. “I need a tuxedo.”

“Certainly, Sir, this way,” the man indicated with a sweep of his arm. “May I enquire as to the event that you need it for?”

“A ball for my school,” Harry replied.

They came to a stop in front of a dozen dummies, all dressed in a tuxedo that Harry assumed were different, not that he could see it.

“Do you have a date?” the elderly man asked as he surveyed Harry over the top of his glasses.

“Um, yeah,” he said, digging into his pocket. “She gave me this.”

The man smiled as he accepted the swatch of silk.

“This should make things easier,” he said. “Now, when will you be needing your tuxedo by?”

“I was hoping to take it with me?” Harry replied.

“Hmm, that precludes having it tailor made,” the man mused. “Off the rack it is, then. Although, if you have an hour or so, we may be able to make slight alterations?”

“I can do that,” Harry assured him.

“Wonderful,” the man smiled. “Now, did you have any particular style in mind?”

“Style?” Harry asked, his voice rising in his panic.

“Not to worry, not to worry, I’m sure that we can come up with the perfect suit,” the man said.

Stepping back, he examined Harry from head to toe, one elbow cupped in the other hand, while a finger tapped against his lips. His eyes flicked down to the midnight blue piece of silk in his hand before giving a sharp nod.

“I think that we might start with the suits over this way,” the man said, indicating the tuxedos behind and slightly to the left of him.

And that was the start of a gruelling two hours of Harry trying on pants after pants, followed by shirt after shirt and then jacket after jacket, followed by ensemble after ensemble. Finally, when he was sure that he was done, it came time to begin deciding upon the accompaniments to his tuxedo: shoes, bowtie, pocket handkerchief, whether a cummerbund was appropriate …

At long last, the older gentleman seemed happy enough to shoo Harry from his store, telling him to come back in two hours for his final fitting.

As Harry stepped out onto Charing Cross Road, all he could hope was that Daphne _really_ appreciated the effort that he was putting in for her.


	18. An Unforgetable Yule

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_5:00am_

_Sunday, 25 December 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry’s eyes snapped open. _Something_ had woken him. For an instant, he was back in his cupboard, waiting for Aunt Petunia to start banging on his door, telling him to get up and start cooking the Dursley’s breakfast.

And then the canopy above the soft bed registered and his body relaxed. He was at Hogwarts. But still, _something_ had woken him. His eyes darted about, but in the dim light of early morning it was hard to see.

Slowly, carefully, he sat up. Lifting one hand above his head, he willed light.

The ball of bright white light that appeared lit up the room and he looked around, trying to identify what had woken him. And then he saw it. At the very end of his bed was a small pile of presents. How they’d gotten there, he had no idea. In fact, _why_ they were there, he had no idea.

And then it came to him – it was Christmas Day. Christmas. With presents. Sure, he knew the concept, how could he not after watching Dudley open mounds of the things every year. But he’d never had any for himself.

Leaving the ball of light hanging in the air, he crawled down the bed to examine this wondrous event. There were five altogether, each one wrapped in magical paper with animated pictures on it. All at once, the presents blurred and he dashed a hand across his eyes to wipe away the tears that had appeared.

Then, with a grin wider than he’d ever had before, he reached forward and plucked one up, bringing it into his lap.

This one was the most badly wrapped of them all, but to Harry, it was exquisite. Almost reverently, he turned it over to find an equally badly written note scrawled across the paper: _To Harry, Merry Christmas, From Hagrid._

Eagerly, Harry unwrapped it to find something wooden drop into his hand. Stuffing the paper behind him, his eyes lit up at the beautifully hand-made pan pipes. The wood was a medium brown and it took him some moments before he recognised it: pear wood. Bringing the pipes up to his mouth he blew into them and promptly frowned when nothing but a wet raspberry sound emerged. Obviously he’d done something wrong.

_Well,_ he reasoned, _if Hagrid gave it to me, then he’ll know how to play it. I’ll simply ask him when I thank him later._

Laying the pipes to one side, Harry reached out and plucked the next gift. This one was by far the largest and had arrows all around it pointing upwards. Figuring that they meant ‘this way up’, Harry took extra care not to tip it about.

Not seeing a note on the outside, Harry unwrapped the gift and promptly stared at the pot-plant. Whatever the plant was, it was small with a couple of thin tendrils shooting up from the main stalk, waving merrily away.

Tearing his eyes away from the plant, Harry found a small book: _Magical Flowers and Their Uses_. Opening the first page, he found a note from Neville, identifying the plant as an umbrella flower. Flipping through the book to find the right entry, Harry’s eyes skimmed the page and promptly dropped the book. _This thing_ is going to grow flowers bigger than a _beach umbrella?_

With a shake of his head, Harry carefully placed his new plant on his bedside table before turning to the rest of his gift.

The next one he opened was from Daphne. When he opened the simple box, he found a new rune etching kit, much more advanced than the one that he currently had.

Hermione’s gift, unsurprisingly, was a large book. The title, though, told Harry that it was not only very thoughtful but would prove to be incredibly useful: _Charms and Enchantments: Turning Your Mundane Furniture Magical._

His last gift was from Susan. When he unwrapped the bright green paper covered in softly falling snowflakes, he found two gifts. The first was a box of chocolate frogs (with a warning note from Susan that they really did jump, so to be careful not to let them escape). The other was a box of something called ‘Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks’. Whatever it was, it sounded like a lot of fun.

Casting a quick _tempus_ charm, Harry saw that it was only twenty past five. The sun may not have even risen yet, but he already knew one thing for certain: _this_ was going to be the best Christmas that he’d ever had.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:30am_

_Sunday, 25 December 1994_

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

.

“Welcome to the ancestral home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black!” Sirius said grandly as he flung open the front door of the old, run-down house.

Harry took a couple of nervous steps forward, trying hard not to let his thoughts on this ‘ancestral home’ be displayed on his face.

One look was enough to confirm his worst fears: the inside was just as bad, if not worse, than the outside.

There was dust and cobwebs everywhere. What brass or silver there was was tarnished and dull. There was apparently a carpet runner on the floor of the hall, but it was so dirty that it almost blended into the dark, unpolished wooden floor that it sat upon. The only redeeming feature that Harry could see was the fact that the old gas lights were so dim that it was hard to make out just how dilapidated everything was.

“I take it this has been in your family for quite a few generations, then?” Harry asked.

“More than six hundred years,” Sirius confirmed. “Looks it, doesn’t it? The house elf whose job it is to keep this place clean has gone a bit batty and hasn’t been doing his job for the past decade.”

“FILTH! DISGRACE! BEGONE UNWORTHY BLOOD-TRAITOR! BRINING HALF-BLOOD VERMIN INTO THIS HOUSE!”

Harry clapped his hands over his ears, dropping his bag in the process, in a vain attempt to block out the terrible screeching that seemed to be coming from a … painting?

Instantly, Sirius barrelled past him, shouting back at the hideous woman that continued to shout as many obscenities as she could.

“SHUT UP, YOU FOUL WOMAN! YOU’RE DEAD! WHY DON’T YOU STAY THAT WAY AND LET US LIVE IN PEACE?”

This last part was accompanied by Sirius yanking on the thick red curtains that bordered the painting closed. The instant that they met in the middle, the sound shut out, whether through some sort of silencing charm or something that put the painting to sleep, Harry didn’t know.

“Sorry about that,” Sirius said, running a hand through his thick black hair.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

“ _That_ was my mother,” Sirius replied. “I’ve tried to remove her, but she put some sort of sticking charm on her painting and I haven’t worked out how to get her off the wall yet.”

Harry merely nodded dumbly. If he had a painting that yelled like that all the time that wouldn’t come off the wall, he’d be tempted to simply remove the wall and burn the lot. But then, for all he knew, it was a load-bearing wall and couldn’t be removed.

“I see your mother’s been making your guests feel welcome again,” an unknown voice stated.

Harry turned to the doorway further down the hall to see a shabbily dressed man. His trousers, shirt and cardigan all looked worse for wear, even having the elbows of his cardigan patched, from what he could see by the way the man stood there with his arms folded. His face was heavily lined and he looked tired. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, made all the more apparent when compared to his light brown and grey hair.

“Harry Potter, meet Remus Lupin,” Sirius beamed, gesturing wildly between the two. “Moony, meet Harry, James and Lily’s son.”

An uncertain smile appeared on the man, Remus’, face as he strode forward.

“Harry, it is so very nice to see you again after so many years,” Remus said.

Harry looked swiftly between the two men.

“After so many years?” he asked.

“Ah, yes. You see, I went to school with your parents and Sirius here. We were the best of friends, in fact, from the very first day on the Hogwarts’ Express.”

“Well, James, Remus and I were the best of friends from then. It took Lily a little longer to warm up to us,” Sirius elaborated.

“Quite,” Remus remarked dryly.

“So, I take it you knew me as a baby,” Harry asked slowly.

“I did,” Remus smiled. “And, if I might say, you were an incredibly cute baby at that. We all doted on you.”

“If you doted on me, then how come I don’t remember you?” Harry asked Remus. “Sirius I can understand, what with the false imprisonment thing.”

“Well, there are several factors for that,” Remus replied, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Harry flicked his eyes between the two men again before making a gesture indicating that he wanted to know exactly what those factors were.

“Well, for one, I didn’t know exactly where you were,” Remus began. “Oh, I knew from Dumbledore that he’d placed you with Lily’s sister and, I guess, with my knowledge of the muggle world I should have been able to find you, but I put it off.”

Remus looked nervously at Sirius then, a look that the dark-haired man seemed to understand.

“You need to tell him, Moony,” Sirius stated.

Remus made a face at him, a face that seemed to say something along the lines that Sirius would pay if things went pear-shaped. Finally, Remus lowered his head, saying the next part without once looking at Harry.

“I also thought that it wasn’t safe for you to be around me. You see, I’m a werewolf.”

Harry stared at the man incredulously.

“You don’t look like a werewolf,” Harry finally replied.

Sirius’ barking laughter snapped Remus’ head up.

“Well, come on, you don’t. Werewolves are supposed to be vicious things with long pointy teeth and sharp claws and … and fur,” Harry said.

“I can assure you that, for one night a month, at least, I have all of those things,” Remus said.

“Fair enough,” Harry said, pleased that he was preventing his body from shaking the way that it wanted to. “Are you dangerous?”

“When I’m transformed, extremely,” Remus replied. “The rest of the time, no.”

Harry nodded slowly. Finally, with a shrug he decided to put that information aside and think upon it later.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, let’s do presents!” Sirius exclaimed.

With a bound, towards the door that Remus had originally emerged from, he led Harry and Remus into a small, cosy sitting room. This room, at least, had had the semblance of cleaning. While the couple of couches and armchairs still looked a little the worse for wear, they were at least clean.

The main feature of the room was an enormous Christmas tree whose top brushed the ceiling. Baubles, tinsel, gold and silver ornaments and host of tiny, flitting fairies filled it with colour and cheer.

Seeing the three presents under the tree, Harry slung his bag around and dug inside to pull out the present that he’d gotten for Sirius. He paused them, looking doubtfully at Remus.

“It’s okay, Harry, you didn’t know that I was going to be here,” Remus smiled. “Come to that, _I_ didn’t know that I was going to be here.”

Accepting that, Harry went to place the present under the tree before stopping. What was the point of that when you were about to pull it back out and hand it to its recipient? Instead, he simply handed it to Sirius.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Thanks, Harry,” Sirius replied before immediately ripping into the package.

“Wow, Harry, a leather jacket!” he exclaimed moments later, holding up the black biker’s jacket.

“You told me about having a bike when you were younger and it sounded as though you were either going to try to find out what happened to it or buy yourself a new one. So, I figured that you’d need something to wear,” he explained.

“Thank you, I love it,” Sirius said and then did something that his godfather hadn’t yet done – he hugged his godson.

When they finally separated, Sirius dove under the Christmas tree and pulled out a bright red package.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Sirius said. “It’s actually from the both of us.”

Eagerly, Harry opened his gift to find a soft dark green covered photo album. Opening it up, he found a photo of his parents dancing on their wedding day. Hesitantly, his hand reached out to touch the image of the man who looked so like himself and then the woman with long dark red hair and eyes exactly like his own. For the first time in his life, he had a picture of his parents, images to go with names.

Through his glistening tears, it was hard to focus on the two men.

“Thank you, thank you so very much. I love it.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_5:50pm_

_Sunday, 25 December 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Finally … _finally_ , Harry’s blasted bow-tie was on. It was straight and looked just like it was supposed to. Twenty-seven times. That’s how many goes it’d taken him to get the blasted thing tied around his neck. Sure, the old guy who sold him the thing had shown him how to tie it, but that was then, in the shop with someone to guide him. Back here at Hogwarts with no one to help him had been a complete nightmare.

His black polished shoes clicked as he walked from his bedroom across to the hard-backed chair where he’d left his jacket. Picking it up, he slid it on, checking the cuffs of his shirt to make sure that they were sitting right. His hands then slid down the lapels of his jacket, straightening it and doing up the single button. His fingers passed over the midnight blue silk peeking from his lapel pocket. The silk, of course, perfectly matched his bow-tie and, hopefully, Daphne’s dress.

After running a final finger around the collar to try to alleviate the choking feeling that it was giving him, he picked up the corsage from the table and headed for the door.

The journey from the third floor down to the entrance to the dungeons where he’d agreed to meet Daphne was filled with a multitude of staring eyes. Everyone that he passed stopped and stared at him, mouths dropping open as he walked past. A couple of guys that he didn’t know simply shook their heads, muttering something about how they wished that _they’d_ thought to wear something similar.

With all of the staring going on, Harry found himself unconsciously slipping into the shadows of an alcove, while at the same time making sure that he constantly watched out for his date.

The first person that he recognised coming from the right direction, was unfortunately not Daphne. Some movement on his part must have caught Draco Malfoy’s attention for, just as he and his date – Pansy, Harry thought her name was – was about to pass, he stopped and stared.

Harry stared back, waiting as the other boy looked him slowly up and down before soundlessly opening and closing his mouth, shaking his head and finally pulling his date along.

Twice more, he was given a similar sort of look. Exactly what was going through their minds was anyone’s guess and the more it happened, the less Harry wanted to know. It certainly didn’t help that it seemed that he was the only one dressed in pants, jacket and bow tie; every single other male that he’d seen was wearing the appropriately named _dress robes_.

Finally, movement from down the corridor caught his eye. A flash of deep, deep blue caused his back to straighten. As soon as he saw the sparkling blue-eyed young woman he stepped forward.

Daphne was simply stunning. Her gown swept the very edge of the ground from where it had flared out from her hips. Above that, the midnight blue silk hugged her tiny waist, emphasised her bosom and was held up by thin straps. Hints of sparkling silver were dotted throughout the dress, emphasised by the thin silver linked chain that wrapped around her waist, leaving a single dangling length on her left hip.

Her creamy shoulders and neck were accentuated by a sparkling sapphire that dangled from a silver chain around her neck. Daphne’s long black hair was pinned up in an elaborate knot around her head, giving her a regal bearing.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry finally breathed when he found his voice once more.

“Thank you, Harry,” she replied, one eyebrow raised. “I wish I could say the same. All that I can say is: _what in Merlin’s name are you wearing?_ ”

Harry looked down at himself reflexively. Her tone of incredulousness made him think that he’d left off his pants or something.

“A tuxedo?” he replied after finding himself properly attired.

“Is that what you call it?” she asked dryly. At his nod, she continued. “I distinctly remember giving you a sample of cloth to help you match your _dress robes_ to my dress. _You_ then said that you were going to get them on Saturday. _What happened_?”

“But I did match, see,” Harry protested, lightly touching the silk in his jacket pocket and his bow tie.

Daphne waved off his protests as though they were inconsequential.

“Dress robes, Harry. This is the Yule Ball, not some muggle fancy dress. If you hurry, there might still be enough time for you to change into appropriate clothes,” she instructed, grabbing his arm, spinning him around and beginning to force-march him back towards the grand staircase.

Harry dug his heels in, bringing her to a stop.

“Daphne. This _is_ appropriate wear for a ball,” he stated. “It’s a tuxedo. Formal wear for non-magical people. And there’s no point sending me back to my room to change. I don’t have any dress robes. Not that I’d wear them even if I _did_ have them. There’s absolutely no way that I’d ever wear a dress, under any circumstances!”

Daphne stared at him, her cerulean blue eyes boring into his emerald greens. Harry could feel his eyes begin to water as he stared right back. There was no way that he was going to give in first.

Eventually, after more than half a dozen couples had filed past the two, Daphne sighed and looked away.

“You’re really going to wear that in front of everyone?” she asked.

“Yes.” Harry replied simply.

He watched his date closely. She was definitely not happy. Obviously, wearing a tuxedo to a magical ball was a very big faux pas, at least as far as she was concerned. Dropping his head, he stared at the object that he’d been turning around and around in his hands for the past couple of minutes in his nervousness.

“Here,” he blurted. “This is for you.”

Daphne looked down at the orchard and feather creation that he held out to her. The white orchids were accented by the crystal pins in the centre of them, holding them in place to the deep blue feathers.

“What is it?” she asked, curiosity clear in her voice.

“A corsage,” Harry replied. “I guess that this is another difference between magical and non-magical formal balls. Here, you wear it on your wrist.”

Then, taking her left hand, he threaded the strap onto her hand. Still staring at the floral arrangement, she adjusted it slightly.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said.

“Look, if you’d rather not go in with me dressed like this, then I completely understand,” Harry said.

Daphne’s head snapped up. “If you think that you’re getting out of this date, then think again, Harry. You promised to make this night special; I’m holding you to it, even if you do look like some overgrown penguin.”

A large smile bloomed on Harry’s face and he held out one arm.

“In that case, shall we?” he asked.

“I suspect that this is going to be a night that I’ll never forget,” Daphne sighed, taking his arm.

Stepping into the Entrance Hall was exactly what Harry had expected: dozens of people stopped and stared. It was almost like a great wave passed through the crowd, forcing people everywhere to turn in their direction to see the freakishly dressed Boy-Who-Lived.

“Sweet Morgana in Heaven, what in the world are you wearing?” Professor McGonagall asked as she bustled over.

“ _Apparently_ , it’s the height of muggle formal fashion,” Daphne replied dryly.

Professor McGonagall stopped and stared Harry up and down. Her lips seemed to get thinner and thinner the more she took in his bizarre appearance.

“I guess that it’s too late to do anything about it now,” she sighed. “The Champions are meeting in the antechamber over there. I suggest that you join them.”

With a nod, Harry led Daphne away in the indicated direction.

“I guess she’s never seen a tuxedo before,” Harry commented.

Daphne sent him an exasperated look. “I doubt _anyone’s_ seen one of them before.”

“Anyone who grew up in the muggle world would have,” Harry countered.

“We’re not _in_ the muggle world, Harry,” Daphne stated.

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that, so remained quiet. To cover it, he opened the door to the antechamber. Inside, the three other couples were grouped together, talking quietly among themselves.

“Harry! Daphne!” a girl in a periwinkle blue dress with long, straight brown hair tied up in a knot on the back of her head exclaimed before rushing across to them.

It took Harry a couple of seconds before he recognised his tutor.

“Hermione?” he asked.

“Yes, Harry,” she replied. “And don’t you look dashing. I think that that’s the first tuxedo I’ve seen tonight.” She leaned in then, lowering her voice so that only the two of them could hear her. “And I must say that I think that I prefer it. All the other boys look like they’re wearing _dresses_!”

“Exactly!” Harry beamed.

Hermione stepped back then, taking in his appearance once more.

“Okay, I’ve just got to say it. So, Harry, how would you like your martini?” she grinned.

Harry assumed a haughty look, standing slightly straighter. “Shaken, not stirred.”

The two of them then dissolved into giggles.

“Are you sure that you two haven’t already been having too much alcohol?” Daphne asked.

“Oh, Daphne, it’s just a muggle joke. Ask Harry later, perhaps he can explain it to you,” Hermione replied.

A presence at her side turned Hermione, then. “You all know my date, Viktor?”

Harry nodded. “It’s nice to see you again, Viktor.”

“You as vell, Harry,” Viktor replied. “Ve have not seen much of you zince ze first task.”

“No, I guess not,” Harry said, taking in not just Viktor, but also Fleur, Cedric and their dates who had wandered over. “I really should apologise about that. I know that we’re all Champions together, but with you guys being so much older and so much more accomplished in the magical arts than me, I’ve been holed up trying to learn as much as I can to catch up as quickly as I can.”

“It’s quite alright, Harry. We all know what you’re going through,” Cedric said.

“Not to zay that you are only putting in token effort, no?” Viktor agreed.

“Thank you,” Harry replied.

The door opening interrupted any further conversation.

“We are ready for your entrance,” Professor McGonagall stated.

The four couple shuffled into line, with Fleur and her date in the lead, followed by Cedric and his date, Viktor and Hermione and with Harry and Daphne bringing up the rear. As the doors to the Great Hall were opened, music flared into life, quickly followed by the applause of the crowd as the four Champions and their dates walked into the Hall.

As they entered, Harry took the chance to look around the room. It was decked out for Christmas with twelve massive decorated Christmas trees, floating candles, soft snow falling from the ceiling that vanished before it reached the heads of the students, ice sculptures and what looked like entire colonies of fairies flitting about.

And everywhere he looked, were people in dresses, or at least in either dresses or dress robes, but to his eyes, he really couldn’t see much difference. Even the staff at either the big round table on the teacher’s platform or dotted about the room at the other round tables were dressed the same. Being the only one wearing a tuxedo had Harry feeling incredibly self-conscious, regardless of the fact that he’d rather be the only one doing so than to have been part of the crowd wearing a dress.

It was then, as he was looking around, that he spotted something that he thought might help with Daphne’s outlook on his attire. Nudging her shoulder gently as they walked, he indicated one of the tables that they were about to pass.

“Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather have me wearing dress robes like that?”

Harry felt Daphne shudder in revulsion as she spotted Ron Weasley. The ancient maroon robes that he wore clashed horrendously with his red hair. The fact that there were bits of white lace at the cuff and ruff that he’d obviously tried to cuff off didn’t help it at all.

“In this instance, I think that I’d prefer you in what you’re wearing,” she murmured. “But only in comparison to _that_.”

Harry chuckled quietly and continued to lead Daphne across the Hall. Soon enough they were up on the staff platform, taking seats around the enormous round table there. Apart from the Champions and their dates, the table also held the three Headmasters, Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch.

“Well, shall we eat?” Dumbledore asked lightly before picking up the menu that had been sitting on his plate.

Unsure exactly what to do, Harry followed suit, watching Daphne surreptitiously. She obviously noticed, for she pointed to one particular entry, lifted her menu out of the way and then spoke to her plate.

“Herb crusted salmon with Caesar salad.”

Instantly, the dish that she’d ordered appeared on her plate. With a smile, Daphne picked up her fork and indicated with it for Harry to choose his own meal.

With a slight frown on his face, he scanned the menu before finding one that sounded particularly appetising.

“Lamb cutlets and rosemary gravy with mixed vegetables.”

Even though he’d just seen it happen, Harry still goggled at his plate when the requested meal instantly arrived.

The dinner then progressed with good food and enjoyable conversation. For the most part, Harry conversed strictly with Daphne, although he did join in on the conversation about quidditch that Ludo Bagman, Viktor and Cedric started up, consequently learning a lot more about the popular wizarding sport than he ever thought was possible.

Soon though, the band, _The Weird Sisters_ Daphne had whispered to him earlier, struck a particular chord that was obviously a cue for the Champions. Seeing Viktor and Cedric on their feet and offering a hand down to the partners, caused Harry to hurriedly shoot to his feet, to do the same for Daphne.

The four couples proceeded down from the stage to the very centre of the room where Dumbledore had cleared an area by the simple method of waving his wand, causing all of the tables and chairs to scoot backwards towards the wall.

“Are you ready, Harry?” Daphne asked lightly, pointedly raising her hand ready to accept his own.

With a nod and a fortifying breath, he stepped forward, lightly grasping her right hand while sliding his right hand along her side and up her back.

“Just focus on me,” she whispered.

The music started then, and Harry did all that he could to ignore the crowd staring at them. His eyes remained fixed on Daphne’s sparkling blue orbs as they slowly waltzed around the room. There were one or two places where he found that he needed to hurry his steps or he’d lose the rhythm, but for the most part he felt that he did well enough. At least, Daphne was smiling and he hadn’t felt himself step on her feet at all.

A short scuffle to the side caught his attention and he looked across to find Fleur’s date tripping over the hem of his dress robes. _That_ , at least, was one major advantage of wearing a suit compared to robes.

As the waltz finished, they glided to a stop and he bowed as Daphne curtseyed to the applause that the Champions were given. And then the dance floor really came alive as couples crowded out onto the floor to join them in the next dance.

It was a few hours later that Daphne finally agreed to take a _short_ break from the floor. Harry’d never danced so much in his life and, as much as he was enjoying dancing with the ebony-haired girl, his feet really were starting to kill.

“Let’s grab a drink and go outside,” Daphne suggested. “I’d like to see the rose garden.”

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed.

“It took them a little while to escape out into the garden, what with the various people – make that the girls – who wanted to have a look at the orchid and feather corsage that Daphne wore. As much as the girls loved it, the boys ended up giving Harry a dirty look. While some had given their dates a flower, it wasn’t one that they could wear over the evening.

“This is nice,” Harry sighed as they stepped out into the cooler air.

All around them, blooms of enchanted roses lined the pathways that had been created. Benches were dotted here and there for people to rest upon as they enjoyed the garden and the clear, star-filled sky above.

Slipping her hand into Harry’s elbow, Daphne leant her head against his shoulder for a moment.

“This has been wonderful,” she said.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Harry teased. “But I am glad that you are enjoying yourself.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure that I would,” she confided. “Your dancing has been much better than your lessons would have indicated and the less we say about your attire, the better, I think.”

Their stroll then continued for a little while in silence. It was only after they’d reached the far end of the garden and had begun to make their way back that it was interrupted by the sound of a pair of voices somewhere on the other side of a hedge.

“So … anyway … enough abou’ me. What about you? Which side you got it on?” a voice that Harry identified as Hagrid’s asked.

“It is chilly,” another voice, female this time, replied.

Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought that it might have been Madam Maxine’s.

“Eh? No, don’t go! I’ve – I’ve never met another one before!” Hagrid protested.

“Anuzzer _what_ , precisely?” Madam Maxine asked, her tone icy.

“Another half-giant, o’ course!”

That was as much as Harry overheard, for, as soon as Hagrid had said it, Daphne had hustled him away.

“Is that why Hagrid’s so big?” Harry asked once they’d moved far enough away from the two. “I’d always wondered what made him so much bigger than everyone else.”

Daphne made a face. “I should have guessed.”

Harry noticed her shiver then. It was only when he touched her hand that he realised that it wasn’t the cold that had her shivering – her hand was quite warm, in fact – no, it was _revulsion_ or fear that had her shivering.

“What … what’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Hagrid’s a half-giant,” Daphne stated.

“Yeah,” Harry replied slowly. “That’s what he said.”

“Giants have a bad reputation for a reason, Harry. They’re vicious creatures. Always fighting and killing. I think there’s less than a hundred left in the world and thankfully, none here in Britain At least, that’s what I always thought,” she said.

Harry looked back down the path that they’d come. There was no sign or either Hagrid or Madam Maxine.

“But Hagrid’s alright. He’s always been nice to me,” he said.

“ _So far_ he’s been okay,” Daphne replied. “But that sort of ancestry has a way of showing through. It’s the same with all half-breeds and dark creatures.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“There may be some people who _look_ human, but their pedigree always shows through,” she replied, her eyes going somewhat out of focus as she stared at something only she could see. “Half-goblins tend to be far too cunning with a propensity for violence; werewolves can never be trusted, whether they’re in their wolf form or human form; vampires should never be allowed near normal people, period; centaurs are more likely to point an arrow at you than talk to you …”

“What about muggleborns?” Harry interjected.

“They’re necessary to our society and they have the power and intelligence to perform advanced magic, but they’ll always be lacking the social graces, wanting to bring in their new-fangled ideas,” she ranted.

Harry stared at his date. _This_ wasn’t the Daphne that he’d been getting to know. He wondered which one was the real one: his kind, patient tutor or this prejudiced pure-blood in front of him.

“Do you truly believe all of that?” Harry asked.

Daphne seemed to focus on him all at once. Her eyes blazed as she stared, before suddenly she looked away.

“It’s what I’ve always been told,” she said quietly. “My father has waxed eloquently all my life about this subject.”

“And what about you, Daphne, do _you_ believe all of that?” Harry asked again. “You’re taking Care with Hagrid and Charms with Flitwick, you’re friends with both Hermione and me. Is that what you truly think about us?”

“Yes!” she replied instantly, before shaking her head. “No. Oh, I don’t know, Harry. It’s what’s said and believed in Slytherin House. Everyone there believes it, or at least, no-one has ever disagreed whenever the topic has come up. I doubt that I would have ever had to think about it if it wasn’t for you.”

Harry watched her, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

“You came here to Hogwarts and I was assigned as your tutor. You’re The-Boy-Who-Lived, like I was really going to turn down the opportunity to learn about you when I was asked. And then you showed up, you and your drawings and painting and talking to dragons, with your weird clothes and ideas. I’ve never had to think about this stuff before, but it’s what I know.”

Harry stared sadly at the girl in front of him. He wouldn’t have guessed that these were the ideologies that she’d been exposed to all her life. And he knew that, as much as he liked Daphne, someone with those beliefs wasn’t someone who he wanted to spend a lot of time around.

“I think I’m going to turn in now, Daphne. Thank you for the wonderful evening,” he said.

Before he lost his nerve, he quickly leant in and kissed her on the cheek. From the corner of his eye as he turned away, he saw her raise one hand to the spot where he’d kissed her. And then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked away.

He hoped that she’d call after him, but unfortunately, she never did.


	19. Culture Clash

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:55am_

_Monday, 26 December 1994_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

With an exasperated sigh, Hermione dropped her copy of _The Daily Prophet_ onto the tabletop. Picking up a forkful of eggs, she contemplated the front page again.

_Dumbledore’s Giant Mistake by Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter_

While Hermione had expected the Yule Ball to be covered in today’s paper, it hadn’t made the front page, at least, not quite. Instead, a special report about Professor Hagrid had that honour. And while the article was blatantly biased, it _did_ raise a couple of valid points after all.

The fact that Hagrid was half-giant didn’t surprise Hermione – she’d suspected something of the sort given his enormous size and fixation on dangerous creatures. And when it came right down to it, as nice as the man was, he really wasn’t the best teacher in the school – not that that was saying much considering some of the other staff appointments over the years. His lessons were either downright scary and dangerous or, after losing his confidence after the hippogryph incident, incredibly boring and futile.

Still, he was a Professor and in Hermione’s mind, that afforded him a lot of leeway. In the last year and a half, ever since she’d begun Care of Magical Creatures, she’d had to berate herself more times than she cared to count when she’d found herself disparaging the man.

“Morning, Hermione.”

Pulling herself back from her introspection, Hermione blinked to find Neville sitting across from her. A quick scan past the boy showed her the Gryffindor table practically deserted, most likely prompting him to sit at the Ravenclaw table instead.

“Good morning, Neville,” she replied. “You’re up a lot later than normal.”

Neville grinned at her. “Yeah, well, I got to bed a lot later than usual, so it’s not surprising.”

“I take it you had a good time last night?” she asked.

“The best,” Neville replied. “I think Hannah and I were one of the last ones to leave. It was amazing. And you? How was your night with Viktor?”

“Viktor was a perfect gentleman and an excellent dancer,” Hermione replied. “So, yes, I had a fabulous time as well.”

“That’s good,” Neville replied before nodding at the paper beside her. “Anything in that?”

“Yes,” Hermione said darkly. “At least on the front page. It came a lot later than normal, so I suspect that they held off printing it until they got a report from the Ball.”

At his gesture, Hermione nodded and Neville swivelled the paper around until he could see the front page.

“Oh no,” he groaned and immediately looked up towards the staff table.

“I haven’t seen Professor Hagrid at all this morning,” Hermione told him. “Nor Professor Dumbledore.”

Neville simply nodded before turning back to the article and reading it through.

“You know, I really, really hate Malfoy,” Neville stated.

Hermione didn’t think that that deserved a response; instead she simply took a drink of pumpkin juice.

“Do you mind?” Neville asked, gesturing to the paper.

“Be my guest,” Hermione replied.

Neville had barely turned the page before he let out a low, venomous, “Merlin!”

“Neville!” Hermione admonished.

Instead of apologising, Neville simply turned the paper until they could both see it at the same time.

The top half of page three of the _Prophet_ was taken up with a recount of the Yule Ball, or more precisely, about Harry’s appearance at the Yule Ball. Fully one half of the article was a wizarding photo of Harry and Daphne dancing during the Champion’s Dance. It was even in full colour.

Harry and Daphne, him in his tuxedo and she in her exquisite midnight blue dress, waltzed from one side of the photo to the other; the remaining Champions and their dates, including Hermione, could be seen dancing in the background.

_The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Mock-Wizarding-Society by Rita Skeeter_

_This year has seen the revival of an ancient wizarding competition that pits the three largest and most prestigious schools in Europe against each other in a friendly event that will help our younger generation to build better ties with those throughout the wider wizarding world._

_A traditional part of the TriWizard Tournament has always been the Yule Ball. This event gives our young people a chance to dress up in their finest wizarding attire and dance the night away in a fun way that celebrates our way of life._

_This event was supposed to be even more special as it also included a celebration of the return of The-Boy-Who-Lived to the wizarding world. But what should have been a celebration turned into a mockery of all that we hold dear. And who is to blame for that? Why none other than Harry Potter himself._

_While all of his fellow Champions as well as his peers dressed in their finest – the latest style dress robes for the young men and the most beautiful of dresses for the young ladies – Harry Potter chose to wear something muggle._

_Apparently the outfit that The-Boy-Who-Lived chose is considered formal wear in the muggle world, but here in the real world, it was nothing less than atrocious. The only ones who considered the attire stylish where themselves ignorant of our very way of life and traditions – the muggleborn and raised._

_It is a well-known fact that not only his date, Miss Daphne Greengrass, heiress of Lord Cyrus Greengrass, but also Deputy Headmistress McGonagall asked Mister Potter to change into something more appropriate. Harry Potter simply refused, if you can believe that, my dear readers!_

_If it wasn’t for this blatant disregard of all the traditions that we hold so very dear, then the Yule Ball would have been declared a resounding success. Students from the three schools mixed and mingled together, laughing and clearly enjoying themselves throughout the night._

_One can only be thankful that Harry Potter seemed to have eventually gotten them message – he was seen leaving the Ball when the night was only half over._

_We can only hope that this faux pas won’t be repeated and that The-Boy-Who-Lived has learnt his lesson._

“Have you seen Harry yet this morning?” Neville asked when he finished reading.

“No, I haven’t,” Hermione replied grimly, shaking her head.

“I didn’t know that he left early,” Neville commented.

“Neither did I,” Hermione replied. “I vaguely recall seeing Daphne sitting with Tracey towards the end of the evening, but I just assumed that Harry was off getting them drinks or something.”

“I think I might head up and warn Harry about this,” Neville said, slapping the paper. “I’ll see you later, Hermione.”

“Bye, Neville,” Hermione replied.

Absently, she watched him leave, wondering what Harry’s response was likely to be to it. Pushing the thought aside, she turned back to her paper.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:20am_

_Tuesday, 27 December 1994_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Daphne picked at her breakfast, not really interested in eating but at the same time knowing that she should. Beside her, Tracey had given up on getting her to talk. She’d tried all the previous day but had eventually found that Daphne simply wasn’t in the mood. Of course, not talking meant thinking, and _that_ was something that she didn’t want to do either.

And it was all Potter’s fault. Harry’s fault.

If he had just done what he was supposed to do and fit into the culture and traditions that he was born into, then Daphne wouldn’t be having to _think_ so much.

Ordinarily, she loved thinking, working out new puzzles, understanding the world around her. What she didn’t like, however, was having her basic beliefs challenged like that. And in such an unexpected way. She was a product of a pureblood wizarding culture that stretched back hundreds of generations, a culture that Harry himself should have been a part of.

Instead, the boy seemed determined to flaunt his muggle upbringing in the face of the culture that he’d entered. And _that_ was precisely the problem that the purebloods had with muggleborns. They were the ones coming into the wizarding world; it was their responsibility to fit into it, to learn all of the traditions and what made this world so special.

Most muggleborns eventually learnt. That or they simply left, whether back to the muggle world or to another country, it was all the same.

Harry, though, was different. He’d come to Hogwarts much later than anyone else and because of that, he seemed to have a much greater identity with the culture that he had left. He was also a puzzle, an enigma, not to mention a powerful individual, both in money and potential political power, all things that had drawn Daphne to him. Not to mention easy on the eyes.

Getting to know Harry was the Slytherin thing to do. There were a great many in her House alone, both male and female, envious of her access to The-Boy-Who-Lived. And everything had been going along so well.

Until that conversation in the rose garden.

She had tried to explain wizarding culture to the boy. She had attempted to help him understand the proper form of dress and what purebloods thought of other, lesser parts of their society.

And then he’d asked _that._

_“And what about you, Daphne, do you believe all of that? You’re taking Care with Hagrid and Charms with Flitwick, you’re friends with both Hermione and me. Is that what you truly think about us?”_

It was still bouncing around in her head, keeping her from sleeping at night.

_Did_ she really believe everything that she’d been taught with the evidence of the people she’d met, the teachers that she’d had and the friends that she’d made?

That was the question and one that she was still struggling to answer. It didn’t help that the one person that she felt that she needed to talk to about all of this, to help her see a different side so that she could finally weigh up the pros and cons of each, hadn’t been seen since he’d left her standing in the middle of the rose garden.

Her rambling introspection was interrupted by the unexpected flap of dark wings and a large eagle owl landing gracefully right in front of her. A leg was extended, showing the parchment tied there, obviously for her.

“Hello, Mercury,” she said. “What do you have there?”

A single glance at the sharp lines of her name written on the outside of the parchment told Daphne exactly who had sent the note, even if the sight of Mercury, the Greengrass family owl, hadn’t. There was only one reason why her father would be writing to her.

The fact that Mercury took flight immediately after stealing a piece of bacon told her that an answer wasn’t expected. Another clue as to what the note held.

Sighing, she determined to get it over with and slit the seal, unrolling the parchment.

_Daphne,_

_While I applaud your intentions to make connections with and learn about Harry Potter, after seeing the article in the_ Daily Prophet _, I find myself questioning the extent to which you are willing to go in your efforts._

_By all means, learn everything that you can about Potter. Disregarding his ignorance of our world, the Potter name and wealth, not to mention the seat on the Wizengamot that he will eventually hold, information about him will be worth its weight in gold._

_Tutor him if you must. Befriend him if you will. But I forbid you from anything more than this. The honour of the Greengrass name will one day rest with you. Do not do anything that will damage it now._

_Father._

It was exactly as she expected. And to be truthful, similar to her own conclusions. Harry, with all of his muggle ideas and his disregard for the wizarding traditions and way of life, wasn’t worth the effort of anything more than casual acquaintance.

Now, if only she could convince herself to believe that.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:45am_

_Tuesday, 27 December 1994_

_The Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“I told you we should have checked the library first,” Hermione couldn’t help but say.

Susan simply ignored her, a slight frown the only indication that she’d heard.

Rounding the table on opposite sides, the two girls slid into seats directly opposite the black haired Slytherin engrossed in one of the many books surrounding her workspace. And then they waited. Finally, Daphne sighed, an indication that she’d given in.

“Can I help you?” she asked, looking up and pinning each of the other two girls with her piercing blue eyes.

“Have you seen Harry today?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Daphne replied shortly.

“What about yesterday?” Susan asked.

Again, Daphne went for the simple answer. “No.”

The two girls shared a look, then, before they faced Daphne once more.

“So when was the last time that you saw him?” Hermione asked.

“At the Ball,” Daphne replied.

“When at the Ball? I didn’t see the two of you leave together,” Susan stated.

“What is it with the twenty questions?” Daphne huffed. “No, I haven’t seen Harry. No, I don’t know where he is. What more do you want from me?”

“Well, you see, no-one’s seen Harry since the Ball,” Susan said.

“That’s not quite true,” Hermione interjected. “Neville saw him yesterday morning in his quarters, but no one since then.”

“And, as you seem to be the last one who saw him, we were wondering why he seems to be hiding,” Susan finished.

Daphne looked between the two. “I’m not psychic. Nor a mind reader. So, I have no idea what Harry’s doing in his room without others around. I am also not his keeper, and therefore am not expected to know.”

“You may not be his keeper, but you were his date,” Hermione pointed out.

“And the fact that he left the Ball early and has since been holed up in his room and refusing to answer his door leads us to wonder if something happened between the two of you at the Ball,” Susan said.

The fact that Daphne was fidgeting with the book that she’d been reading, opening and closing it, flipping through the page edges, constantly moving it minutely around the desk told the other two girls that she knew exactly what was going on.

As such, Susan and Hermione simply sat where they were, staring at Daphne until she caved. It might have taken close to five minutes, but there were two of them and only one of her and they were able to provide the pressure that was obviously needed.

“Alright! Alright! We had a fight. Happy now?” Daphne finally blurted.

Susan and Hermione simply nodded, already having deduced as much.

“What did you fight about?” Hermione asked gently.

Once again it took a little while before Daphne was willing to tell.

“We overheard Hagrid and Madam Maxine talking and Hagrid saying that he was half-giant,” Daphne finally said. “I … I freaked out a bit. You know the stories, I’m sure.”

Susan simply nodded.

“Well, then I tried to explain to Harry how half-humans and muggleborns are viewed in wizarding society,” Daphne continued. “Let’s just say that he didn’t agree.”

“How are half-humans and muggleborns viewed?” Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Not well,” Susan said simply. “Most purebloods look down on them because they don’t fit into wizarding culture, instead trying to bring in their own, thus potentially changing the way things have always been done.”

“But change can be a good thing,” Hermione protested.

“I know that,” Susan replied. “But you’ve got to remember that witches and wizards live a long, long time. Our average lifespan is around one hundred and thirty, compared to about seventy for muggles. And for people who’ve lived that long and seen so much, they aren’t that interested in having everything that they’ve always known changing. It doesn’t help that they’re also the people in politically powerful positions within the wizarding world. Traditions are everything to them.”

Hermione nodded her head slowly. “I can understand that, I think, but still, a society that is stagnant is inevitably doomed to fall.”

“Not all purebloods think like that,” Susan said. “My aunt for example. The Weasleys for another.”

“But there are far more Ancient Houses that _do_ feel that way,” Daphne cut in. “And you’ll find members of a large proportion of them in the Slytherin dungeons.”

“So you argued with Harry about it and he left,” Hermione said, bringing them back on track.

“I … I might have said that I … that I agreed with it,” Daphne said meekly.

Hermione groaned.

“And as someone fresh from the muggle world, it would have been enough to scare him off,” she said. “ _I’ve_ been in this world for three and a half years and I’ve read a lot about the wizarding culture and _I_ still have problems accepting it. I understand it, which helps, but Harry’s had none of that. He may have been born in this culture, but he’s lived in the muggle one for so long that that’s the way that he would be thinking.”

“At least we now know why he’s in hiding,” Susan said. “He’s trying to understand this new world and is probably finding everything overwhelming.”

“So what are you going to do about Harry?” Hermione asked Daphne. “Are you going to try and talk to him, get him to understand your position and maybe even attempt to understand his?”

Daphne lowered her head. These were some of the questions that she’d been asking herself. Questions that she _still_ had no answers to.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:25pm_

_Wednesday, 28 December 1994_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Iz et really necezzary to do zis now, Dumbleydore?” Olympe Maxine asked as she lowered herself into the oversized chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk.

“It is always best to get these sort of details in place in case of unexpected occurrences closer to the big event,” Albus replied, his eyes twinkling away behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Well, if we’re going to do it, then let’s get it done. I’ve a good bottle of vodka waiting for me back in my cabin,” Igor Karkoroff stated.

“In that case, shall we begin with your Champion, Igor?” Albus asked. “Would Miss Granger suit as Viktor’s hostage?”

“From what I have heard from my students, I believe so,” Igor replied. “Viktor seems to have really taken a shine to the girl. Apparently he watched her in the library for weeks before asking her to the ball.”

“Miss Granger it is then,” Albus said, making a note on the parchment in front of him.

“And what of Miss Delacour, Olympe? Can we use her Yule Ball date?” Albus asked.

“Zat buffoon? No, certainly not,” she replied. “I believe zat Fleur only asked ze boy because she zaught him attractive. Non, there iz nozzing there.”

“Do you have an alternative suggestion?” Albus asked.

“Fleur’s zister, Gabrielle, would work. I am zure that I can get her parentz to agree to zend her to ’Ogwartz for ze Zecond Task,” Olympe replied.

“Very good, very good,” Albus said, once again making a short note on his parchment.

When he looked up, it was to see his two counterparts, as well as Minerva tucked away in the corner, looking at him expectantly.

“I believe that Miss Chang will do nicely for Mister Diggory,” he stated. “It is my understanding that they have been an item for some time now.”

Before adding Miss Chang’s name to his list, Albus looked across to his Deputy to receive her nod of agreement.

“That just leaves Mister Potter,” Albus said. “I believe that Miss Greengrass would be the most appropriate.”

“Are you sure about that, Albus?” Minerva asked.

“Certainly,” Albus replied. “Miss Greengrass tutors Mister Potter in two subjects and I have often seen the two together at other times. And you all saw how the two of them interacted at the Yule Ball, particularly on the dance floor. Yes, I believe that Mister Potter is developing a strong attachment to Miss Greengrass.”

“I’m not convinced, Albus,” Minerva countered. “The rumours that I’ve been hearing the last couple of days indicates that the two have had a falling-out.”

“Who else is there?” Igor asked. “The only other one that I’ve seen the boy conversing with at length is that dragon!”

“No, no. Even if Mister Potter and Miss Greengrass are having a difference of opinion at the moment, I’m sure that it will blow over quickly. And in any case, Mister Potter will in no way countenance leaving one of friends at the bottom of the Black Lake,” Albus declared.

“Then Miss Greengrass it is,” Minerva sighed.

“Excellent!” Albus declared, adding the fourth name to the parchment. “We now have all four hostages decided upon. In the morning I shall confirm with Merchieftainess Murcus that the arrangements within the Black Lake will be ready.”


	20. Sirius Tidings

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:35am_

_Thursday, 29 December 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

_Knock knock_

_Knockknockknockknock_

Harry stumbled from his bedroom letting his feet guide the way. His glasses dangled from one fist, a fist that, like its partner, was currently in the process of wiping the sleep from his eyes.

A sound of scuffling came from beyond his door and he wondered what in the world was going on. The two different sounding knocks was bad enough. The first had obviously been Sir Rogeric announcing that he had a visitor – he’d heard it often enough to be able to distinguish the knight’s knock quite easily. The other was obviously someone too impatient to wait for Harry to get up and answer his door.

_Knockknockknock_

Whoever it was was in a desperate hurry to see him.

Slipping his glasses into place and running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it into something that didn’t resemble bed-hair was enough for Harry to feel ready to find out who this rude person was who’d decided to wake him up so early on a Saturday.

Harry flung open the door and promptly blinked before bursting into laughter.

Sirius was in a desperate – and losing – battle against the statue of Sir Rogeric. He had one arm pinned between the knight’s body and arm, his other arm around the knight’s head and somehow had managed to get one foot caught over the top of Sir Rogeric’s shield. The knight had also stuck his wand up Sirius’ shirt, pinning him in place while nearly lifting him off of the ground.

“Was that you banging on my door,” Harry asked when he finally stopped laughing.

Sirius’ pout instantly restarted Harry’s laughter.

“Well? Don’t just stand there laughing. Tell this monstrosity to let me go!” an exasperated Sirius instructed.

“I don’t know, Sirius, you _did_ wake me up with your banging on my door,” Harry replied.

“Harry!” Sirius shouted.

“Alright, alright,” he grinned. “Let him go, Sir Rogeric.”

The knight turned his stone head towards Harry and nodded. Immediately, he shifted his arm, allowing the pinned arm to fall away, the wand was removed from Sirius’ shirt, while Sir Rogeric simultaneously lowering his shield so that Sirius’ foot dropped back towards the ground. Only the fact that Sirius still had a hold around the knight’s neck prevented the wizard from ending up in a heap on the ground.

“Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged. “Would you like to come in, Sirius?”

As Sirius passed him, trying to look dignified despite Harry’s continued chuckles at his expense, Harry turned to the guardian of his room and bowed slightly.

“Thank you,” he said.

Sir Rogeric straightened slightly before simply turning until he was back in place, facing outwards to resume his duties.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode at this god-awful hour of the morning?” Harry asked after shutting the door.

Sirius looked seriously back at him, his eyes raking every inch of the sleep-tussled boy.

“I’d heard that you’d holed yourself up in here and weren’t coming out or answering your door,” Sirius replied. “I was worried.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already was.

“Yeah, guess I have been a bit of a hermit,” Harry allowed.

“I understand that there was some kind of fight at the Yule Ball?” Sirius asked delicately.

Harry fell into one of the armchairs.

“I wouldn’t say fight,” he said, shaking his head, “more of a difference of opinion.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Sirius asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not really. It was mostly getting to see and understand the wizarding culture like I never had before. A culture clash, I guess.”

“You sure that you don’t want to talk about it?” Sirius tried again.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it constantly for the last couple of days and I think I’ve thought about it as much as I want to at the moment.”

Sirius looked around the room, his eyes seeming to linger on the table near the window.

“You have been eating, right?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yeah, sure,” Harry replied. “The house elves have been bringing me my meals and taking away the dishes afterwards.”

“Good,” Sirius nodded. “So … you’ve just been holed up in here thinking?”

Harry stared at his godfather. “Now that sounds like a recipe for driving yourself insane. No, I haven’t simply been sitting here thinking. I’ve been working.”

“Working?” Sirius asked, perking up at the change of topic.

“Yeah, come on, I’ll show you,” Harry said, pushing himself to his feet.

Harry led the way into his room and then down into his workshop before making a flourishing gesture towards his newest creation.

It was a small platform made out of polished oak, easily two metres wide and five metres long. Even though it wasn’t very high off of the ground – only two feet – a set of three small steps had been built at one end of it.

“What is it?” Sirius asked as he walked around the platform.

“I thought that would be obvious. It’s a platform,” Harry replied.

“Yeah, I got that much,” Sirius said. “I guess I should have asked what it’s for.”

“It’s for Professor Flitwick,” Harry replied.

Sirius looked back at the platform before barking out a laugh.

“I take it Filius is still using stacks of books to stand on when he gives his lessons?” Sirius asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied before a dark look flitted across his face. “So I figured that I’d make him this. Us half-casts have to stick together, after all.”

Sirius opened his mouth to say something to that, but promptly closed it again, obviously thinking better of whatever he was going to say.

“Is it finished?” he asked instead.

“Yeah. Finished it last night,” Harry replied. “Now I’m just trying to teach myself the shrinking charm so that I can get it out of here.”

  * _And doing a poor job of it too§_



The unexpected hissing sound spun Sirius around, one hand reaching for his wand. When he identified the source, though, he relaxed slightly.

“I don’t think that I’ll ever get used to that,” Sirius stated, gesturing to the painting sitting in the corner of the room on its easel. “What’d she say, anyway?”

“Ramaranth was pointing out that I’m doing a poor job of learning the charm,” Harry replied, scowling at the painting of the dragon.

“Well, at least you’ve had company down here,” Sirius commented, although it came out more as a question. With a shake of his head, he switched topics. “I’m not surprised that you’re having trouble, _reducio_ ’s a fifth year charm. Let’s see your wand movement.”

With a flick of his wrist, Harry’s wand was in his hand and he was demonstrating the charm.

“Close, but you’ve got to make the movements a bit sharper,” Sirius said. “Here, watch me.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_3:00pm_

_Thursday, 29 December 1994_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry and Sirius had remained holed up in Harry’s quarters for the remainder of the day. Together they’d worked on not only the shrinking charm, but also the engorgement charm until Harry could not only complete both with ease, but also had started to have some success at affecting small objects with both charms wandlesslessly.

In between the spell work, Harry’d eventually told Sirius about his conversation with Daphne. It’d been a halting conversation, especially when Harry had had to explain things from the non-magical perspective for the older man. Apparently his mother, Lily, had already had similar conversations with not only Sirius, but also with his dad and their friends making it slightly easier to explain where Harry was coming from.

Sirius, for his part, mostly listened, throwing in a question here or there, not only to clarify something, but also to get Harry thinking about the pureblood perspective. It didn’t mean that Harry liked it or agreed with it in the slightest, but by the end of the conversation, he could at least see the where the opposing point of view came from.

“Now, while we’re here, all alone with no-one around,” Sirius said, “tell me what you’ve got planned for the Second Task.”

When Harry started to shake his head, Sirius seemed to misinterpret his meaning and quickly protested.

“I know that the Champions aren’t supposed to have any help, but you can bet your last knut that the French and Bulgarian Headmasters are doing everything that they can to make sure that their Champion wins. And you can also bet that the Diggory boy’ll be getting every scrap of help that he can as well.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Harry said, finally managing to interrupt Sirius’ protests.

“It wasn’t?” Sirius asked. “What were you going to say then?”

“I was _going to say_ that I haven’t given the Second Task the slightest bit of thought whatsoever,” Harry replied.

Sirius’ mouth moved up and down for a minute before he jumped to his feet.

“Now that’s simply not going to be good enough. Where’s your clue? Egg? Whatever?”

The man started looked around the room as though he expected the large golden egg to be out on display somewhere.

“I put it away in the back of one of the cupboards in my workshop,” Harry told him.

“What’d you do that for?” Sirius asked, “It isn’t going to solve itself hidden away in there.”

Harry gave him a nonplussed look. “Wait until you hear it and then tell me that you would’ve done anything different.”

Sirius simply waved his comment aside, instead insisting that Harry go and retrieve the egg.

When he returned, he balanced it on the coffee table, placed his hand on the latch and looked across at his godfather.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said and turned the latch.

The instant that the sides fell away, a horrible screeching rent the air causing both wizards to clap their hands over their ears. Seeing the pained expression on his godfather’s face, Harry scrambled to get the sides of the egg back into place before resetting the latch.

“What in Merlin’s saggy trousers was that?” Sirius asked in a loud voice.

Harry shook his head, both in answer to the question and in an attempt to clear the ringing in his ears.

“ _That_ was why I put the thing in the back of the cupboard,” he deadpanned.

“That was one hell of a noise,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “And _that’s_ your clue for the Second Task?”

“That’s it,” Harry confirmed.

“They don’t make it half hard, do they?” Sirius asked.

He walked around then, alternately staring at the egg and the ceiling while rubbing the back of his neck.

“There’s nothing else? No other clue?” he asked.

“Nope, that’s it,” Harry replied.

“What about the other Champions? None of them have dropped any hints at all?”

“Not to me,” Harry replied.

“Have they _done_ anything out of the ordinary? Gone anywhere? Been in any particular part of the library more than usual?” Sirius persisted.

Harry shook his head before pausing mid-shake, something that Sirius pounced on.

“You’ve thought of something! What is it? Even the smallest thing might give us a clue,” he insisted.

“Well,” Harry replied slowly, “Neville _did_ say that Viktor’s been swimming in the lake a lot the last couple of weeks. And Fleur and Cedric have been staring at the lake a lot as well.”

“The lake, huh?” Sirius mused. “I wonder …”

With that, he snatched up the egg and raced off towards the bathroom, Harry trailing along behind.

“Sirius! What are you doing?” Harry called.

“Following a hunch!” the old marauder called back.

By the time that Harry had reached the bathroom, Sirius already had the basin half filled with water, the egg sitting in the bottom of it. The instant that the water had covered the egg, Sirius reached in and opened the latch.

The sound that gurgled out of the water was … pleasanter. At least, there wasn’t any hint of the horrendous screeching that had been going on. But whatever the muffled sound was, it was indecipherable to the two wizards above the water.

To counter this, Sirius promptly stuck his head into the water. A massive grin was plastered on his face when he pulled his face back out, much like the hair that was stuck to his forehead.

“It’s mermish!” Sirius explained.

“What?” Harry asked.

“It’s mermish. That’s why we were only hearing that screeching sound. You can only understand mermish underwater,” Sirius explained.

Harry stared between Sirius and the egg. Then, at Sirius’ gesture, he stuck his own head into the water. He started when he heard the melodic voices, so very unlike what the egg was producing above the water. And then he realised that the voices were singing a song. It took a further four dunkings before he had the entire song memorised.

_Come seek us where our voices sound,_ _We cannot sing above the ground,_ _And while you're searching ponder this;_ _We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_ _An hour long you'll have to look,_ _And to recover what we took,_ _But past an hour, the prospect's black,_ _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

“It’s a song! The clue’s in the song!” Harry exclaimed to Sirius.

As Harry rushed off to find some paper and a pen to write it down, he noticed his godfather dunking his head in the basin once more.

When Harry returned, the poem now firmly clasped in his hand, it was to find a pensive-looking Sirius.

“What are you thinking?” Harry asked.

“I’m thinking that this task involves the merpeople in the Black Lake,” Sirius replied.

“There are merpeople in the Black Lake?” Harry echoed.

“Sure,” Sirius replied, waving the question away. “Have been for centuries. It sounds to me as though you’re going to have an hour to find something hidden in the lake, most likely in the merpeople village.”

Harry looked down and re-read the poem. The lines definitely supported Sirius’ theory.

“‘We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss’,” Harry read. “Does that mean that they’re going to steal something from here and use it in the Task?”

“Could do, but I doubt it,” Sirius replied. “No, they’ll want something a bit flashier than having the Champions look for their favourite broomstick or book or something. No, they’ll use something that’ll make the crowd a bit more attentive.”

“Like what?” Harry asked.

 “My guess would be a hostage,” Sirius replied. “Put a person down there for the Champions to rescue and the crowds will eat it up.”

Harry stared at his godfather.

“They’d put a person _at the bottom of a lake_?” he asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t that simply kill them?”

“Nah, there’re spells and potions that’ll simply put someone to sleep in a kind of suspended animation,” Sirius replied.

“Well, who in the world would they use for me? It’s not like I’ve had much of a chance to get that close to people here and you can forget about the people back home being something that I’d sorely miss,” Harry stated. Then, after a second’s thought. “They wouldn’t use you, would they?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Sirius replied slowly. “Most likely it’ll be one of your friends.”

Harry’s mind immediately dashed to his four tutors – Neville, Hermione, Susan and … Daphne. And then he knew. It was obviously really.

“Daphne,” he breathed. “They’ll use Daphne, won’t they?”

Sirius nodded. “That’d make sense, especially after your taking her to the Ball.”

“But we fought,” Harry protested.

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll matter to the organisers,” Sirius replied.

“So, they’re going to take Daphne, do something to her, stick her at the bottom of the lake and then expect me to rescue her within an hour’s time limit?” Harry summarised slowly.

“Yep. Looks like you’ll have your work cut out for you, doesn’t it?” Sirius grinned.

Harry shrugged. “I guess. Although I never agreed to do more than make a token effort in this blasted Tournament.”

“Well, at least think about what you’re going to do. You’ve got nearly two months to come up with a plan,” Sirius reminded him.

All Harry could do was nod.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:00am_

_Friday, 30 December 1994_

_Charms Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Professor Flitwick?” Harry asked from the door.

The Charms Master looked up from his desk, a smile on his face as he recognised the head in his doorway.

“Mister Potter! Come in, come in,” he invited.

Harry did so, closing the door behind him and making his way through the desks and chairs to reach the area in front of the professor’s desk.

“What can I do for you?” Professor Flitwick asked.

Suddenly, Harry was feeling nervous. His hand dove into his pocket and he fidgeted with the object that he’d placed there.

“I’ve … I’ve got something for you,” he finally said.

“Indeed?” Professor Flitwick replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands across his stomach.

In reply, Harry simply nodded before taking in the space of the floor.

“Would you mind if I moved a couple of things?” Harry asked.

At the professor’s gesture, Harry flicked out his wand and levitated half a dozen piles of books from the middle of the room to against the far wall. After mentally measuring the area again, he shifted the front row of desks back half a metre. Finally, he nodded, satisfied.

Then, taking out the object in his pocket, he placed it in the middle of the open space, being careful to orientate it exactly right.

“ _Engorgio,”_ Harry said, carefully swishing his wand in the sequence that Sirius had taught him.

Instantly, the small wooden platform grew from its doll-house size to the full size that Harry had originally created it to be.

Professor Flitwick leant forward in astonishment, his face quickly morphing into a delighted grin.

“Is that what I think it is, Mister Potter?” he asked.

“If you think that it’s a platform to help make it easier for you to teach and for your students to be able to see you easier, then, yes, it is,” Harry replied.

In a flash, Professor Flitwick was down and around his desk and bounding up the stairs at the side. Harry smiled, pleased that he’d guessed the correct distance for the stairs to be apart to make it comfortable for the half-goblin.

Flitwick bounced from one end of the platform to the other, from the front to the back and back again. Finally, he turned to Harry.

“Did you make this yourself?” he asked.

“Yes,” Harry replied with a nod.

“It’s marvellous, absolutely wonderful,” Professor Flitwick beamed. “If you were a Hogwarts’ student, I’d be awarding you a plethora of points, not only for your creativity but also for your thoughtfulness.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, feeling his cheeks burning.

“Oh, this is going to be fantastic,” Professor Flitwick said, continuing to move about his new platform. “Why ever did I not think of something like this before? I can’t wait to try it out when classes resume. Thank you so very much, Mister Potter.”

“You’re welcome, Professor,” Harry replied.

“And may I commend you on your engorgement charm as well? Did you do the shrinking charm yourself as well?” the professor asked.

“Yes. I had Sirius teaching me yesterday,” Harry replied.

“Well well, a fifth year spell. It seems that we’ll have to accelerate your learning and the types of charms that I should be teaching you.” Professor Flitwick said.

Harry smiled uncertainly, not sure exactly what he’d just let himself in for.


	21. They're Going To Want A Show

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:45am_

_Saturday, 31 December 1994_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Movement in his peripheral vision, combined with Neville stiffening beside him at the Gryffindor table, told Harry that something was about to happen. Ominously, he turned his head and immediately felt his stomach begin to churn as though an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies had just taken up residence there.

“Hi, Harry,” Daphne said and immediately went back to chewing her lower lip, an indicator of the nerves that she was also feeling.

“Hi, Daphne,” he managed to croak.

He’d been anticipating and dreading this meeting for nearly the past week, ever since the Yule Ball, which coincidentally also happened to be the last time that they’d seen each other. Not that that was a surprise. Finding out that the person that you were coming to trust the most in this strange new world, the one that you liked the most, held such diametrically opposed viewpoints to you was something of a shock, to put it mildly.

And so, Harry had hid. He had no illusions that that was exactly what he was doing. He may have tried to fool himself into thinking that he was busy building that platform for Professor Flitwick, but he was hiding, plain and simple. Not that his brain ever really shut off.

He'd spent days and sleepless nights going over everything that Daphne had said, as well as what Madam Maxine _hadn’t_ said trying to understand. And when he added in his very first morning in the Great Hall and meeting Draco Malfoy and hearing _his_ beliefs, what he came up with was something ugly, something right out of the Victorian Age.

Everything had been tossed around in his brain until he had come to one startling decision: Daphne, just like he was, was a product of their culture, upbringing and environment. Their beliefs were simply a part of who they were and, while he might not agree, if he twisted his mind the right way, he could sort of understand where she was coming from.

“Can we talk?” Daphne asked.

Harry’s eyes darted around the hall. It was still early on a Saturday morning, which meant that there weren’t as many people there as there could be. But the eyes of every one of them was currently fixated on Harry and Daphne. Harry knew the rumours that were bounding around the castle – Neville had reluctantly given in to his urging to be told. These people were all waiting for the show to start.

“How about we go outside,” Harry suggested.

At her nod, Harry rose and together they walked from the hall. Not a word was spoken between them until they reached the shore of the lake, their tracks in the snow the only ones around, assuring Harry that they were quite alone.

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted.

Daphne looked at him, but before she could say anything, he continued.

“I’m sorry for walking out on you at the Ball. It was incredibly rude of me. You were my date and I treated you horribly.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said what I said, either,” Daphne said softly.

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Harry began.

“So’ve I,” Daphne said softly.

Harry inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her statement.

“I think that what we have here is a significant culture clash,” he said. “There’s a lot about the wizarding world that I find incredibly hard to understand, let alone accept, with the culture that I grew up in and I daresay that it’s similar for you? That there’s a lot about the non-magical culture that you don’t understand either?”

Daphne nodded. “Those clothes that you wore for one.”

Harry nodded. “Well, there was no way I was going to wear a dress.”

“Dress robes,” she corrected.

“Thus my point,” Harry said. “Culture clash. What you see as the height of men’s fashion, I see only something that a woman would wear. And the hierarchical structure of wizarding society is something that the non-magical world left behind centuries ago, thus why I have such a problem with it.”

“But it’s how things are,” Daphne sighed.

“I know. I know. I get that,” he replied quickly. “And whether it’s good or bad is completely arbitrary, dependant on the culture you were brought up in.”

Daphne nodded slightly and turned away, one shoe scuffling the snow beneath her feet.

“So where does that leave us?” she eventually asked.

Harry sighed. “I don’t know, Daph. I don’t know if I can change to the wizarding way of thinking. And as much as I want you to change to my way of thinking, I _can’t_ ask you to give up what you’ve grown up with.”

Silence fell between them then.

“We can’t go back to how things were, can we?” Daphne asked, hope tinged with sadness in her voice.

Harry’s throat closed up, leaving him to simply shake his head. When he finally found his voice, he said the only thing that he could think of.

“I hope that we can still be friends?”

“I’d like that,” she said softly.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:50am_

_Saturday, 7 January 1995_

_Hagrid’s Hut, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

It’d taken Harry much, much longer to make this trip than he’d intended. Really, he _should_ have been down here Christmas Day or, at the very latest, within a day or two after that. Aunt Petunia may not have taught Harry much, but one thing that she made sure to drum into his head was his manners. And it was simply good manners to thank a person properly after they give you a gift – something that a passing remark in a crowded hall was not.

And so, Harry was here, raising his hand to knock on the door on the gamekeeper’s cabin.

A smile lit Harry’s face as the instant that he knocked, a deep booming bark sounded. Fang; as good as a doorbell.

The instant that the door opened wide enough, the old boarhound was nudging his owner aside to see who their visitor was. It was then all that Harry could do to keep his face free of dog slobber.

“’Arry! Come in, come in!” Hagrid insisted, throwing the door open wider.

When Harry’s attempt to do just that was hampered by Fang, Hagrid reached out one dustbin sized hand, grabbed Fang’s collar and all but threw the boarhound back inside the hut.

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry said.

Inside, the hut was toasty warm and Harry was quick to shrug off his jacket, gloves, scarf and beanie. A huge fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace, filling the one-roomed hut not only with its warmth, but also a flickering light and a smattering of smoke that hung lazily around the rafters.

“What brings you down here on a day like this?” Hagrid asked. “No’ that it’s not nice to see ya, Harry, ’cause it is.”

“A couple of things, actually Hagrid,” Harry replied, taking the proffered seat that Hagrid indicated for him. “But mostly, it’s because I wanted to thank you for the panpipes you gave me for Christmas.”

“Do you like ’em?” Hagrid asked, hope clear in his voice.

“They’re brilliant!” Harry replied, pulling said pipes out of his back pants pocket. “It’s pear wood, isn’t it?”

Hagrid beamed through his great bushy beard. “Knew yer’d know what it was. Yep, tha’s pear wood alright. Made ’em myself.”

“It’s beautiful craftsmanship,” Harry replied. “I’ve tried to play them a few times, but I don’t think I’ve found the right technique yet.”

“Pass ’em ’ere and I’ll show ya,” Hagrid said, sticking out his hand.

Harry passed them over, watching intently as Hagrid gave them a quick look over before buffing them on his vest. He then raised them to his mouth so that he could blow over the top of the pipes. A haunting sound began as Hagrid began playing them and, while it wasn’t quite the type of music that Harry liked, he couldn’t help but smile as he listened.

“There you go,” Hagrid said when he finished. “You gotta remember to blow soft like. They don’ like it if’n you just try to force all yer breath down ever’ single pipe.”

“Thanks, Hagrid, I’ll remember that,” Harry said, taking them back.

The sound of a whistle sounded behind Hagrid and the big man quickly bustled across to the fire to rescue the kettle. Tea was quickly poured and a small mountain of rock cakes was placed on the table between them. Harry eyed the cakes warily. He’d made the mistake of trying one the last time that he was here and was certain that he’d chipped a tooth.

“I heard that you got a bit of grief from that newspaper article,” Harry said as delicately as possible.

Instantly, Hagrid’s face darkened. “Tha’s one way of puttin’ it.”

“I just wanted to say that you shouldn’t listen to them, Hagrid. I think that you’re brilliant; you were my first friend in the magical world, remember. I don’t care what your mum or your dad were like – look at who my relatives are – it’s who we are on the inside that counts,” he rambled.

It wasn’t quite what he’d rehearsed, but judging by the look on Hagrid’s face, he thought that it’d do.

“Thank ya, Harry, tha’ means a lot,” Hagrid snuffled. “Yer a lot like yer mum, did you know tha’? She’d’a said exactly the same thing.”

Harry smiled a small smile. He still didn’t know much about his parents, so it was always nice hearing a bit about them, and then to hear that he was like his mum in a way was extra special.

Their talk meandered,then for a while before Harry turned the conversation towards the other reason that he’d sought the gamekeeper out.

“You’ve been here at Hogwarts a long time, haven’t you, Hagrid?” Harry asked.

“More’n fifty years,” Hagrid confirmed.

“So you must know pretty much all there is to know about the place,” said Harry.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Hagrid replied. “But I’ll admit that I know ’Ogwarts better then most.”

“I was wondering what you could tell me about the lake?” Harry asked.

“The lake, eh?” Hagrid asked, a knowing smile on his face. “Now, I wonder why’n you want ta know about tha’? Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll tell ya all I know. Let’s see, now. There’s a lot o’ creatures and plants in there. Grindylows for one. Thar alrigh’, unless’n you get a whole pack of ’em, then they’re annoying little buggers. An’ there’s a whole host of differen’ fish o’ course. Then there’s the giant squid. An’ the merpeople, but I reckon you know about them, eh?”

“Yeah, I know about them,” Harry replied grimly.

Hagrid scratched his head as he thought.

“Don’ really know what else to tell ya, Harry,” he said. “Don’ really have much to do with it, ’cepting for the firs’ day of school when I bring the firs’ years across it in the boats.”

“Boats?” Harry asked. He didn’t remember seeing any boats on the shore anywhere.

“Yeah, got a whole fleet of ’em,” Hagrid replied. “We keep ’em in a small cave under the school, in past the vines in the cliff.”

Harry nodded absently. Really, apart from finding out that the school had a bunch of boats, he didn’t really learn anything knew, but he would have kicked himself if he _hadn’t_ asked Hagrid and later found out that he knew something incredibly useful or important.

“Thanks, Hagrid, that’s a great help,” he said.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:10am_

_Saturday, 4 February 1995_

_The Shore of The Black Lake, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry stared out at the lake before him.

_This_.

This was to be the site of the Second Task of the TriWizard Tournament. Somewhere out there, deep in its very depths, was a village of merpeople – a concept that he _still_ had trouble wrapping his mind around. And in the middle of that merpeorple village, assuming that he and Sirius had worked out that poem correctly, would be where the hostages were supposed to be rescued from.

He was fairly sure that Daphne was going to be his hostage, not that he was one hundred percent sure of that fact – they had hardly been speaking to each other since the Ball, despite their study sessions and their attempt at dealing with the issue between them.

Shaking his head, Harry got back to the problem at hand – regardless of who it was, a hostage for him to rescue was going to be placed in the depths of the lake. In the middle of February, no less. Even now he could feel the cold seeping from the water towards him, making him pull his hands inside his jumper and wrap his arms around him.

In theory, he knew that all he really needed to do was to stick a toe in the water and that’d be that: Task done.

But Sirius was right, these people liked a show. Which was probably why he’d gotten at least a small amount of respect after the First Task. Despite the fact that he was using parseltongue, he was _talking to a dragon_! It didn’t get to be much more of a show than that.

Idly, he went through all that he now knew about the lake: there were magical creatures in there, creatures that he had no idea how to combat if they decided to turn nasty; there was a giant squid, apparently named ‘Marvin’ according to the weird blonde girl in Ravenclaw – Luna, he thought her name was – that Hermione had had explained to her from the said blonde; the merpeople village was in the depths of the lake and the fact that they were given an hour to find it tended to indicate that it wasn’t going to be easy to find.

Harry knew that he stood no chance of surviving in the lake for five minutes, let alone for an hour. He didn’t know how to cast the bubble-head charm that he’d read about that would allow him to breathe underwater. He couldn’t do any type of self-transfiguration. Even if he went to back to London and bought some diving gear, there was no way that he’d work out how to use it in the small amount of time that he had until the Task.

Oh, there was that water plant that Neville had found, gillyweed or some such thing. But there was no way that Harry was going to eat some unknown plant in the hope that it would work, assuming that he could even get a hold of some. Not to mention the fact that Harry had no idea how to swim – it wasn’t exactly something that the Durselys had ever encouraged, especially when the alternative was so much more attractive if he ever fell into a river or something.

No, it looked as though Harry’s only option was the old ‘toe in the water’ trick.

Scooping down, he plucked up a rock and threw it out as far into the water as he could. Seeing the satisfying splash, he picked up a handful more and threw them all, one after the other.

But it was while he was doing so that something caught his attention: the cliff-face that butted up against the water that the castle rested upon. And partway down on one side were the vines that covered the little cave that Hagrid had told him about.

The germ of an idea caught his attention and he froze in his rock tossing.

It was definitely something that could be classed as ‘putting on a show’. And he definitely thought that he could do it, not that he’d ever done anything like it before in his life. But he’d _heard_ about it, _read_  about it, _seen_ it being done even. Unfortunately, it’d mean a trip back to London, but he wasn’t a Hogwarts student and was even considered an adult in this crazy world, so that wouldn’t stop him.

Glancing at his watch, Harry nodded his head. If he hurried, he could be there and back well before dinner.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:45pm_

_Thursday, 23 February 1995_

_Fourth Floor Corridor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Daphne wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. She’d just come out of the library, a place that she’d only been in for less than ten minutes. And for the life of her, she couldn’t remember exactly what had drawn her to the place in the first place. All of her homework was up to date, she had no ongoing projects that required information that only a trip the library could provide and none of her friends were in there.

And right there was probably the problem. One look around the library had told her that there was no messy-haired boy sitting at a table, half buried in books. She wasn’t even aware that she’d been looking for Harry until her shoulders had slumped and she’d realised why.

The two of them had been cordial to each other over the past month and a half. Each of their study sessions had been efficient and he’d soaked up her help and tutelage as he always had. But there was something missing. The friendship and rapport that they’d built before Christmas was gone.

Finding herself near one of the many glassed windows on the floor, she slumped against its side, her eyes staring out unseeingly at the school grounds and the Forbidden Forest beyond it.

She’d cursed Hagrid every day since the Ball. For that matter, she’d cursed herself, too. Hagrid’s overtures to the Beauxbaton’s Headmistress couldn’t have come at a worse time. The fact that Harry and her had overheard them and that it had led to _that_ conversation turned what had been an enchanted evening – if one ignored Harry’s atrocious dress sense – into something disastrous.

Exactly what had made her say what she did when she knew that she was talking to the muggle-raised Harry Potter was beyond her. The best that she could come up with was the fact that she was feeling comfortable, so comfortable in fact that she’d let her defences down.

And then they’d argued. If you could really call it arguing when she’d mouthed off and Harry had simply walked away. And no matter how hard she tried, no matter the conversation that they’d had trying to clear the air, nothing was the same.

Daphne couldn’t help but feel that she’d lost the potential for something truly amazing that night.

A flicker of movement on the grounds below her caught her attention and she straightened slightly, even as her eyes finally focussed on the scene outside.

A figure with extremely familiar messy hair and wearing glasses that the moonlight caught and reflected briefly back towards her, was walking hurriedly across the grounds. Something swung from his left hand and her brows creased as she tried to puzzle it out.

_Is that a … bucket?_ she wondered. _What in Merlin’s name is Harry doing heading towards the Forbidden Forest with a bucket in his hand at this time of night?_ Especially _the night before the Second Task._

The sound of footsteps in the corridor behind her interrupted her musings and she looked around.

“Miss Greengrass,” Professor Snape drawled.

“Professor,” she replied, inclining her head respectfully to her Head of House.

“I need you to come with me,” he instructed.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied. “May I ask why?”

“That will be explained to you once we are there,” Professor Snape replied.

As Professor Snape began to lead her away, Daphne took one last look out the window, trying to spot Harry. It took her a couple of seconds of searching before her eyes found him: a dark lump hunkered down at the base of a tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.


	22. Gone Fishin'

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:00am_

_Friday, 24 February 1995_

_The Black Lake, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

It was a grim-faced group of Champions that Harry found standing just to the side of the starting line at the Black Lake where the Second Task would take place.

“Hi, guys,” Harry said as he joined them.

“Harry,” Cedric greeted solemnly.

Fleur and Viktor settled for nods.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked tentatively.

Cedric gave him a hard look before he seemed to wilt. “Cho’s missing.”

“Hermy-own-ninny is also missing,” Viktor stated, a scowl making his face seem more hawk-like than it usually was.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Fleur, who shrugged. “Zere must be zomeone chozen for moi, aussi, but it iz not my date from ze Ball.”

“Any idea who your hostage is, Harry?” Cedric asked.

Harry looked up into the stands that surrounded the Black Lake, now filled with Hogwarts students. Immediately, his eyes found the green and silver section before focussing in on Tracey Davis, a Tracey who continued to look wildly about, as though searching for someone. The fact that her best friend wasn’t by her side and hadn’t been at breakfast either, told who she was looking for.

“Daphne,” he replied.

Cedric’s face took on a look of confusion. “I know the two of you went to the Ball together, but I thought that you had a falling-out or something.”

“We did. Sort of,” Harry replied, before waving it away. “Doesn’t really matter, does it. The organisers obviously thought that she’d be ‘the something that I’d miss the most’.”

“Come along, come along, time to get ready,” a bustling Ludo Bagman interrupted.

At his insistence, the four of them moved across from where they were standing to the very shore of the Black Lake. Percy Weasley officiously made sure that they were all standing in the correct place, with a precise five metres between each of them.

While Mister Bagman explained the Task to the audience, Harry looked across at the three real Champions. Each of them had now shrugged off their outer robes, leaving them in their swimming gear, their wands held firmly in their hands. Harry, though, didn’t bother taking off even his jumper – he had no intention of getting wet in the slightest.

When the other three shifted positions as though they were about to start running, Harry decided that he probably should be paying attention.

 “Okay,” Mister Bagman’s enhanced voice called. “On the count of three. One … Two … Three!”

From the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Victor race off towards the water, his wand a blur in his hand as he pointed it at himself. Cedric and Fleur were seconds behind him, each performing some sort of motion with their wand that included circling their own head.

Harry, though, simply raised his own rowan and willow wand and pushed with his magic, not towards himself or even out towards the depths of the Black Lake. Instead, Harry’s wand was pointed more along the shoreline. From the direction that his wand indicated, a fast moving brown blur appeared from amongst the vines at the base of the cliff below the castle, only to resolve itself into one of the school’s many small boats.

Before the last of the other three Champions – Fleur – had finished disappearing below the waters of the Black Lake, Harry’s summoned boat had come to rest with its nose pulled up slightly onto the shore.

Taking a running jump, Harry launched himself over the prow of the boat, coincidentally also pushing the boat back out to bob more fully on the water. The boat rocked alarmingly under him causing him to shoot his hands out to either side and freeze in place. Thankfully, the wild rocking quickly settled and Harry felt safe enough to clamber about until he was able to plonk himself on the middle seat.

A quick glance down was enough to ensure him that the items that he’d left in the bottom of the boat before dawn that morning were still there. Then, with Hagrid’s instructions clear in his mind, he shifted around enough to tap the stern of his boat with his wand.

Immediately, the boat heeled to one side as it pirouetted in place until its bow was pointing straight out into the middle of the lake. The soft _swish swish_ of the water under the bow indicated that his journey had begun.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, the boat glided to a halt in the very middle of the Black Lake. Harry waited, casting his eyes about nervously to ensure that the boat really had stopped, but, apart from a small bob to one side corresponding with the waves from the wind, the boat really had come to rest.

With a smile to himself, Harry slipped from his seat to kneel on the bottom of the boat. Even that small movement was enough to send the boat rocking and to make his book bag tip over onto its side. His eyes narrowed at it. There was no way that he was willing for any … ickiness … to get on his favourite bag. So, in one swift movement, he picked it up and deposited it over the other side of the seat, closer to the stern.

The long thin canvas case was the next to come to hand. This, Harry upended, causing two fibreglass poles to slide out of it. Carefully, he slid the two ends together and twisted it to line up the guides. After that, it was a case of threading the fishing line from the reel through the guides and pulling enough down to attach the sinker and hook exactly like he’d been shown.

The end result wasn’t exactly pretty, but Harry figured that it would do.

Next, of course, came the gross part. Uncovering the small pail that he’d jammed under one of the seats, Harry stared at the mass of wiggling brown worms. Wrinkling his nose, he plunged his hand in, grasped one and pulled it out. Then came a trial and error of comedies as he tried to thread the worm onto the hook without looking at it or thinking about the tiny worm screams that he imagined coming from his ministrations.

Eventually, he decided that it was good enough and in one uncoordinated attempt, he flicked the rod over his head and forward, sending hook, worm and sinker about five metres out from the boat.

Satisfied with his efforts, Harry sat down on the middle seat and prepared to waste the next fifty or so minutes sitting out in the middle of the Black Lake doing nothing but staring at the fishing line in his hand. Whenever the subject of fishing had come up at either the Dursleys or at Keating’s, one truth seemed to prevail: fishing was a great waste of time, a lot of effort for next to no results.

Unfortunately for Harry, it seemed that the Potter luck was once more with him. He’d barely settled himself in what he hoped would be a comfortable position when the tip of his rod jiggled. He stared at it.

_Surely not,_ he managed to think right before the rod tip jerked, nearly bending in two and shooting out of his hand.

Instinctively, Harry held on for all that he was worth and then he did the unthinkable – Harry Potter began fighting with the reel, attempting to reel whatever was on the end of his fishing line into the boat.

A flash of silver followed by a great splash of a tail that sent a rain of water up and into the boat told him that whatever he’d hooked was close. Leaning backwards, he gave one last mighty heave on the reel. And then he stared, his mouth dropping open in astonishment.

Wriggling and flapping about on the end of his fishing line was the biggest fish that he’d ever seen. It had to be at least forty centimetres, maybe fifty. What species it was eluded him. He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined actually _catching_ a fish.

Then, with one last massive jerk, the fish slipped from the hook, only to fall into the bottom of the boat. Harry’s feet came up in a flash as he stared at the incredible sight. The thing flipped and flopped every which way, its movements becoming ever more frantic and jerky before it finally stilled. Well, mostly stilled – there was still the occasional wiggle of its tail.

Staring back at his hook, Harry found only glinting silver. With a shrug, he dipped his hand back into the bucket below his feet, carefully worked another worm onto the hook and cast his line out once more.

Within minutes, the tip of his rod was again jerking up and down. This time, though, Harry was prepared. He waited until there was a much deeper dip before he ripped the rod straight up into the air. And then, once again, the fight was on. His hands and shoulder muscles were beginning to ache by the time the second fish, this one slightly smaller than the first, was on the bottom of the boat.

After that, it became almost repetitive: bait the hook; throw the line in; wait a couple of minutes; feel the line being tugged; jerk and fight the fish to and then up and into the boat.

The only thing that he could think of was that he must have parked the tiny boat right over the top of a school of whatever these fish were. That and maybe the fact that these fish had never seen anything like a worm dropping into the water like that before in their lifetime.

Within half an hour, Harry had forgotten all about the contest that he was in; he was much too excited about the seven fish lying in the bottom of the boat at his feet.

Harry was just about to cast his line out again when an unexpected splash came from the waters right behind him. Thinking that there must be an extremely curious fish jumping about, he turned around. What he saw though, caused him to drop his rod. Not even the clatter that it made as it bounced around the bottom boards was enough for him to realise what had happened.

No, Harry’s whole focus was on the … head bobbing in the water staring back at him. Whatever it was was nothing like Harry had ever seen before. For a start, its skin was mottled grey, making him think that someone had died in the lake and was only now bobbing back to the surface. That was until he saw it blink its yellow eyes at him. Its long sea-green hair hung limply against its head and shoulders before flaring out in the water.

Its mouth opened wide and a piercing shriek erupted from it, causing Harry to clap his hands over his ears to block out the sound. Only then did he realise what he was staring at: a merperson.

“Uh, hello?” Harry tried once the unholy racket had stopped.

The merperson blinked at him before once again opening its mouth and sending forth a screech to make the sound of nails raking down a blackboard appear the sweetest sound in existence.

When Harry finally managed to peek through his screwed up eyes, he noticed that the merperson was gesturing with its mottled grey, webbed hand. It took Harry nearly a minute before he realised what the being meant: Harry needed to stick his head in the water. Oddly enough, that actually made sense. He’d been able to understand the egg’s wail when his head had been underwater

Harry peered at the side of the boat before shaking his head and climbing over the seat to reach the stern of the boat. Then, while kneeling on the rear seat and keeping his hands anchored to the side, he leant over as far as he could until his entire head had been dunked into the water.

Immediately, Harry gasped at the shock of cold and pulled his head back up. Even from just that brief instant, he’d begun to shiver, his breaths coming in great heaves.

At once, the merperson emerged from the water once more, a frown clear on its face.

Sucking in a breath, Harry clenched his jaw and plunged his head back under the water.

The sight that met his eyes was of a half-human, half-fish hybrid that oddly enough, or perhaps not so oddly enough, looked right at home in the water. In the water it was hard to tell, but Harry suspected that the merman would be as tall as Hagrid if they could stand side by side.

This time when the merman opened its mouth, Harry was able to understand him.

“No-fin can understand Flisch in water; Flisch can understand No-fin in air.”

Harry puzzled that one out and nodded his upside-down head. It seemed that they could communicate if only one of them did the talking in each environment.

“What No-Fin do to Silver-Fin?” the merman asked.

Harry gasped as he pulled his head back out the water, instinctively giving his head a flick to get rid of the worst of the water. Even with that dog-shake, he still grimaced as he felt rivulets of water running down his neck and under his jumper and shirt.

“I’m fishing,” Harry replied to the question that he’d been asked. “Um, catching the fish to eat later?”

That was a good enough explanation, seeing as though he _did_ plan on giving the fish to the Hogwarts house elves to cook up.

At Flisch’s gesture, Harry plunged his head over the transom of the boat once more.

“Why you do this? No-Fin should be getting his air-breather from village,” Flisch stated.

“I would if I could,” Harry replied once they were once more above water. “But I can’t breathe under water, so I’m just wasting time until the competition is over and then one of your people could bring her back up.”

Once again, Harry had to endure the freezing temperature of the water to hear what the merman had to say to him.

“You should no take Silver-Fin. Belong to mermen. Ancient agreement.”

When Harry was next above water, the first thing that he did was to cast his eye on the fish laying in the bottom of the boat. He didn’t know that fishing in the lake was off-limits. But maybe he could use that? It was a crazy idea and definitely went against his idea of not trying in the Tournament, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“Um, Filsch, I’m sorry about taking the … the Silver-Fins,” he said. “I didn’t know about the agreement. I’ll give them back to you if you do me a favour, though.”

Filsch’s eyes narrowed slightly before he waved one grey, webbed hand that Harry took as him asking what the favour was.

“If you bring Daphne, um, my air-breather, up to me from the village, I’ll give you all of the Silver-Fins that I caught.”

Harry watched hopefully as Flisch seemed to consider the bargain. Then, with an elegant flip that ended with a tail-slap on top of the water, the merman disappeared.

Harry was left sitting in the slightly rocking boat, wondering what exactly had just happened. Obviously the merman had come to a decision, but what that was, he had no idea. Really, it could go a number of ways: Flisch could actually do as he asked, or he could have been insulted to such a degree that he was off to find reinforcements to deal with the vile ‘No-Fin’, or perhaps he’d just had enough and decided to go back to whatever it was he was doing before Harry’s fishing interrupted him.

Before his thoughts could run any further, Flisch re-emerged, only to point one webbed finger back into the water. Taking this as a good sign, Harry leant over the side of the boat.

“What your air-breather look like?” Flisch asked.

The instant that Harry was above water again, he dove towards his ever-present satchel. Then, trying to be careful not to get everything inside it wet, he pulled out his sketch-pad and began madly flipping through it.

“This,” he said, holding up one particular drawing. “This is Daphne, my, er, my air-breather.”

Flisch stared hard at it for a couple of moments before sinking beneath the water.

And then Harry simply had to wait.

It was a long wait and felt ten times longer than it really was, what with there being nothing for him to do. He couldn’t fish any more, and there was no way that he was going to sketch anything with wet hands and dripping hair. Whittling would have been a good distraction, that was, if he’d thought to keep some wood and his knife in his satchel. Well, that was something to remedy later.

An unexpected surge of water just to the side of the boat announced, hopefully, the return of Flisch a quarter of an hour later. In his eagerness, Harry nearly jumped to his feet, only remembering at the last minute how disastrous _that_ could have been.

And then a pair of heads emerged from the water: one with long, limp sea-green hair, the other with deep ebony hair.

The instant that Daphne’s face emerged from the water, she took a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes looked wildly about her. A short, high-pitched shriek sounded the instant that she caught sight of who, or rather, _what_ was holding her. She splashed and struggled, trying to get away.

“Daphne! Daphne! It’s alright. It’s only Flisch. He brought you up from the merpeople village,” Harry tried to explain to the thrashing girl.

“Harry?” she asked, looking wildly about until she spotted him and the boat that he was sitting in.

Harry smiled as he leant as far over the side of the boat as he could, reaching out with one hand towards her. After a brief glance back at the merman behind her, Daphne reached up and grabbed hold, allowing him to pull her in so that she could hold on to the side of the boat.

Beyond her, Flisch was making urgent gestures between Harry, the boat, Daphne and himself.

“Just a sec, Daph, I’ll be right back,” Harry said.

Ignoring her confused look and indignant “what?!” he moved towards the front of the boat and began to pick up the slippery silver fish and throw them over the side. Once they were all gone, Flisch nodded and promptly disappeared.

“Thank you!” Harry called after the disappearing merman.

“Harry!” Daphne insisted, “get me out of here!”

“Sorry, Daph,” Harry said, shuffling around in the boat.

One look at the way the boat was already tilting dangerously towards the water where Daphne was was enough to tell Harry that pulling her in over the side of the boat was a very bad idea.

“Can you shuffle around to the back of the boat?” he asked.

With a huff of annoyance, she did so. Harry used the time to wash away the slimy fish feeling from his hands.

As soon as Daphne was in place, he set his feet as best as he could before reaching down and grasping her under her arms. Then, with a major heave, he hauled her up and over the transom. Daphne gasped as she fell into the boat. Immediately, she started shivering, wrapping her arms around herself.

Her everyday robes were gone, leaving her in just her stockings, skirt and school shirt – all items that Harry noticed were plastered to her body, accenting her curves in a very … flattering way. Hurriedly, Harry pulled off his jumper. It was still mostly dry and she needed it a lot more than he did.

“G-give m-me y-y-your w-wand,” Daphne stuttered, her teeth chattering in the bitingly cold air.

Immediately, Harry flicked it out of his wand holster and held it out to her along with his jumper.

He watched closely as she waved it over herself in a swirling motion, making most of the water siphon off of her. She was still damp, especially her long hair, but at least she wasn’t as likely to freeze to death now.

“Can we get back to shore so that I can warm up?” Daphne asked.

“Definitely,” Harry replied, and, after taking back his wand, he tapped it thrice on the end of the boat, picturing where he wanted the boat to go in his mind.

“Right, I’ve just got to ask,” Daphne said as the shore gradually came closer. “Did you _buy_ me from the merpeople?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘ _buy’_ ,” Harry grinned at her. “Bartered for their assistance, maybe, but not _buy_.”

“Uh huh,” she replied, clearly unconvinced of the differentiation.

“Hey, it was the only way that I could get you up from the bottom of the lake,” Harry replied. “I’m sure that you wouldn’t have preferred that I just _leave_ you there if I had another option, right?”

“No. I wouldn’t,” she said. Then, in a softer voice, “thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for,” he replied.

Any comment that she may have responded with was interrupted by the boat grounding on the shore and a set of faces appearing around them.

“Out of the way!” a huffing Madam Pomfrey commanded, pushing Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch to one side. “That girl has been in the freezing water for Merlin knows how long and is likely to come down with pneumonia!”

Within seconds, she had hustled Daphne from the boat, wrapping her in a huge, thick blanket and began guiding her towards the tent set aside for the Healer.

“I’ll want to see you as well, Mister Potter,” she called over her shoulder.

“Best not to keep her waiting, eh, Harry,” Mister Bagman grinned. “We’ll give you your scores once all of the other Champions have returned.”

Harry nodded as he clamoured from the boat. Fleur, he noticed, was already back. She was currently standing right on the edge of the water, wringing her hands as she stared worriedly at the lake.

Feeling himself give a rather violent shiver, Harry left his wondering about his fellow Champions until later. He desperately needed to get dry and warm. And something hot to drink wouldn’t go astray either, he decided firmly.


	23. Hero, Champion, Bill-Payer?

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_2:45pm_

_Friday, 24 February 1995_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Lemon drop, Harry?” the Headmaster of Hogwarts offered, gesturing to the crystal bowl placed on the edge of his immaculate desk.

“Thank you, no,” Harry replied, sitting back in his chair.

His eyes darted around the room, unsure exactly why he was there. The Second Task of the TriWizard Tournament had only finished a couple of hours before. There’d been enough time for Harry to get a bite to eat and to celebrate with his friends that it was over and the fact that he’d actually finished the Task within the time limit – the only Champion to do so – when he was informed that his presence was requested in the Headmaster’s office.

And, even though it was stated as a request, Harry knew that Professor McGonagall, the one to deliver the message, meant it as an order.

Thoughts of a long, long hot shower were subsequently pushed aside in favour of doing as he was told.

“I thought that we might discuss your performance in the Task,” Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his intent blue eyes.

Harry nodded slowly.

“Would you like to tell me how you accomplished the Task?” Dumbledore asked.

“I thought that you already knew that,” Harry replied. “That the merchieftainess told you what happened.”

It took a fair bit of self-control for Harry _not_ to shudder at even the memory of the two, merperson and old wizard, shrieking at each other at the water’s edge in voices that would have done fingernails on a blackboard proud.

“Ah, yes, Merchieftainess Murcus did tell me what she knew,” Dumbledore allowed, “but I would like to hear it in your own words.”

Harry stared at the old man, confused. What did it matter how he’d done it? It _was_ a fluke, after all. And the Task was finished now, soon to be forgotten in favour of all the speculation of what the Third Task was going to be.

Even so, he decided to humour the old man that could possibly one day be his Headmaster.

“Well, when I worked out what the Second Task was,” Harry began slowly, “I knew that I’d have no chance of completing it. I’d have to rescue something or _someone_ from the bottom of the lake, in the middle of winter.”

“What led you to believe that you would be unable to complete the Task?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry stared at the man.

“The hostages were at the bottom of a lake,” he repeated. “How was I supposed to get down there, let alone rescue whoever you’d put down there for me? I don’t know how to swim and, unlike Cedric, Viktor and Fleur, I don’t have nearly seven years of magical education to help me out. Apart from a handful of spells, I’m barely halfway through learning the first year curriculum.”

“Surely you could have researched a way to survive underwater and then practiced it?” Dumbledore suggested.

Harry waved the suggestion away. “Tried it. Failed. And as for that weed that Neville told me about, well, there was no way I was going to eat something like that and dive into a freezing cold lake without knowing _exactly_ what was going to happen.”

“So you had no intention of rescuing Miss Greengrass?” Dumbledore asked incredulously.

“Nope,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I figured that you wouldn’t have put them down there if they weren’t going to be safe. Only an idiot would have believed that line about them being lost forever if they weren’t retrieved within the time limit.”

Dumbledore seemed to be turning that statement over in his mind as he stared at Harry. Almost of its own volition, an ancient hand snaked forward, plucked a lemon drop from the bowl and popped it into the waiting mouth.

“That is not the actions of a hero or a Champion,” Dumbledore finally stated.

Harry’s eyes goggled at the man. “I’m not a proper Champion and I’m definitely not a _hero_. All that Boy-Who-Lived garbage is bad enough without trying to add to it needlessly.”

Dumbledore appeared to wince at Harry’s forceful statement.

“If you had no intention of rescuing Miss Greengrass, what, may I ask, was your plan for the Task?” the Headmaster asked.

Just the thought of that brought a grin to Harry’s face.

“Well, when I realised that you were going to have everyone sitting in stands on the shore of the lake and stare at it for an hour in the freezing cold, I decided to put on a bit of a show for them. Admittedly, watching someone fish isn’t much of a show, but it’s got to be better than staring at a lake for an hour.”

“Fishing? Your entire plan was to go fishing?” Dumbledore asked incredulously.

“Yep. Didn’t expect to catch anything if truth be told – that was a bit of a shock, let me tell you,” Harry replied. “Although, not as much of a shock as Flisch’s head popping out of the water was.”

“And then you decided to _buy_ your hostage back from the merpeople?” Dumbledore asked, looking as though he wanted to bury his face in his hands.

“No, no, not _buy_ – I wish people would stop saying that, Daphne’s going to skin me alive if she thinks that I simply _bought_ her,” Harry protested. “I _traded_ the fish that I’d caught for Flisch’s help with completing the Task.”

“Again, I must point out that paying someone else to do the hard work does not a Champion or hero make,” Dumbledore said.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. “What is it with you and the idea of me being a hero? Yeah, I’m a Champion, but we both know that that’s in name only. I was never going to compete properly, just do enough to get through the Tasks and be able to keep my magic.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, that is the agreement. It would be nice to actually see you try, though. To rise to the occasion, as it were.”

“Yeah, if wishes were fishes, I’d have a boat full,” Harry replied, grinning at the memory of the fish that he’d caught lying in the bottom of the boat.

“Well, perhaps in the Third Task?” Dumbledore suggested hopefully. “You did manage to come third in this Task. Thirty points, while not many, is a vast improvement upon your score from the First Task.”

“Yeah, well, considering that I only performed one spell and got Flisch to rescue Daphne for me, I wasn’t expecting that many, not that it matters all that much,” Harry agreed.

“I shall let you go now, Mister Potter, I’m sure that Miss Greengrass will be wanting to thank you for providing the means to remove her from the bottom of the lake,” Dumbledore said. “But do think about what I have said, especially in light of the upcoming Third Task.”

“I’ll do that,” Harry replied, not meaning a word of it.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_5:05pm_

_Friday, 24 February 1995_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Taking a step back, Harry eyed the canvas before him.

It was coming along slowly but surely. But there was still something … off … with it, not that he was too concerned with that yet. He’d had the same thing happen a number of times before and it’d always work itself out. Usually, it was at about the same stage, too – when he was still outlining the intended painting in chalk.

This one was intended to be a bit simpler than his last one. And there definitely wouldn’t be any animating it either. He was sure that he’d destroy the thing within a day if he had to listen to a merman shrieking in their above water voices. No, the painting that he was going to do of Flisch’s head bobbing in the water, the shore of the Black Lake an indistinct haze in the distance, was going to be simpler.

And, like the painting of Ramaranth, it was simply a memento of the Second Task, something that he could keep, something besides that accused golden egg that was once more hidden in the depths of one of his cupboards.

Ramaranth, too, had finally, grudgingly, approved, especially when it was explained to her that the painting wasn’t going to be animated. Apparently dragons and merpeople didn’t get along. A fact evidenced by Ramaranth’s threats to invade Flisch’s canvas and to eat the merman if they were placed in the same room, let alone on the same wall.

_Knock knock knock_.

Harry stilled, his hand frozen as he was in the process of raising the chalk once more.

Even without checking, he knew who was at the door. He’d been avoiding this meeting all afternoon, firstly with a half-hour hot shower and then with the canvas and potential painting. But, of course, it was inevitable. He knew that she’d eventually seek him out.

The problem was that Harry wasn’t sure what to expect from the conversation. _The thing he’d miss the most_. Yeah, that could be taken sooo many different ways it wasn’t funny. And the fact that she’d allowed it happen, spoke volumes as well.

Harry wasn’t exactly sure _what_ his relationship with Daphne was anymore. She was his tutor and, before the Yule Ball fiasco, they’d become friends. Harry’d entertained the idea of exploring if there could be more there, but that conversation at the Ball had killed that idea. Well, mostly killed that idea.

Since then, they’d gone from wariness where they would hardly look at each other, let alone _talk_ to each other, to slowly repairing their friendship. Their tutorial sessions had finally lost their awkwardness and become more like they used to be.

But now, after Daphne being labelled as _the thing he’d miss the most_?

_Knock knock knock._

Either Sir Rogeric or Daphne were getting impatient.

Sighing, Harry lay the piece of chalk down and went to answer the door.

The tiniest flicker of nervousness in Daphne’s eyes as he opened the door was gone in an instant, masked in her usual way, just like most of her emotions, leaving Harry wondering if he’d imagined it. Her long, black hair, now shiny and full-bodied once more, lay about her shoulders, delicate wisps framing her face.

Currently, her arms were wrapped about her, her hands and fingers almost completely hidden in the sleeves of her dark green jumper, whether in nervousness or cold Harry couldn’t be sure.

“Daphne,” he finally said.

“Harry. May I come in?” she asked.

With a nod, Harry stepped aside, opening the door wider for her. Then, after a quick word of thanks to his door’s guardian, he closed the door and followed his visitor into his room.

At first, Daphne seemed to be headed for the lounge area and the fire blazing merrily away in the fireplace, but her steps quickly altered when she spotted the easel and canvas set up near the window.

Harry eyed her warily. He’d never been comfortable showing off his artwork, especially when it was still in such an early stage of development. Her head cocked to the side as she examined it before she turned, her brilliant blue eyes connecting with his own emerald greens.

“The merman who brought me up from the village?” she asked.

“Flisch, yes,” he replied.

“I look forward to seeing it finished,” she replied.

Daphne straightened then, as though what she had to say next was more … formal?

“Thank you for what you did to get me up from the bottom of the lake,” she said. “I am in your debt.”

Harry shook his head. “No you’re not. I didn’t really do anything. It was all plain, dumb luck anyway.”

He looked away then, trying to order the words in his head. Never mind the fact that he’d been having this very conversation in his head over and over for the last few hours.

“I … I knew that I had no chance of getting to you at the bottom of lake, so all I had planned was to do a bit of fishing while I waited out the time. And then Flilsch appeared and I was able to make a deal where he could bring you up for me.”

“So you _did_ buy me,” Daphne stated.

And it wasn’t until Harry was in the midst of a massive panicky denial that he saw the edges of her lips twitch. That twitch quickly became a full on smile before she burst out into laughter.

“Oh, Harry, you are so easy to wind up,” she said through her laughter. “Neville told me what you’d really done. How’d he put it? That you ‘ _traded_ the fish that you’d caught for the merman’s help with completing the Task’. Yes, that was it.”

Harry nodded emphatically.

“That’s right!” he said. “I _traded_ for some help; I didn’t _buy_ you!”

“Relax, Harry, I understand,” she assured him, patting him on the chest. “And I do understand and appreciate that fact that you took the opportunity to get me out of that lake as soon as it presented itself.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. Every scenario that he’d imagined had her fixating on the ‘buying’ aspect of it and consequently tearing strips into him for it.

At his gesture, they moved across to the lounge chairs in front of the fire.

“How’d … how’d you end up in the lake in the first place?” Harry asked carefully. “Did you volunteer?”

Immediately, Daphne’s face darkened and she scowled. “No. I certainly did not _volunteer_! I didn’t even know that I was going to _be_ your hostage until I woke up when I surfaced in the lake.”

“Then what happened?” Harry asked, wide-eyed.

“I remember Professor Snape finding me in the corridor last night,” she recounted. “He said that I had to go with him. I remember that he led me to the Headmaster’s office, but apart from that … nothing.”

“Nothing?” Harry asked.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Well, the circular moving staircase and the Headmaster’s door and then a flash of red light. But other than that, no, nothing.”

“They didn’t even ask you if you were willing to participate in the Task as my hostage?” Harry asked.

“No,” Daphne stated.

“Do you … do you think that they got permission from your parents?” he asked.

Daphne seemed to think about that for a moment before shaking her head.

“No, I can’t see my father giving permission for that. He’d already told me that he’d … prefer that I didn’t get … too close to you,” she confessed.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of that statement and decided that now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Instead, he tucked it away for later thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

“For what?” she asked.

“For getting you mixed up in all of this,” Harry replied. “I’m pretty sure that they used the Champion’s dates as hostages. Well, apart from Fleur of course.”

Seeing the tiny silver-haired girl being brought up from the lake had been quite a shock not only to Harry but to quite a few others, judging by the gasps that he’d heard at the time.

“Not your fault, Harry,” she told him. “I don’t blame you in the slightest. I blame Snape and Dumbledore and whoever else is involved in the running of the Tournament.”

Harry nodded, a tiny smile on his face. This conversation had gone so much better than he’d imagined.

“So tell me more about what I missed this morning,” Daphne said.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:30am_

_Saturday, 25 February 1995_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Harry, she noticed, had once more done his normal trick after some momentous event – the First Task and the Yule Ball came quickly to mind – and failed to make an appearance at breakfast in the Great Hall.

Looking around the Hall, at everyone calmly eating their breakfast, she decided that it didn’t look all that dissimilar to a normal Saturday at Hogwarts. Groups of students were animatedly talking together, the Ravenclaws were eating with books propped up in front of them and the professors all looked relaxed.

Even after Harry’s bizarre showing in the Second Task of the TriWiz (and she still couldn’t believe that he’d actually finished not only first but inside the time limit no less) the castle’s inhabitants seemed to be taking it simply as another one of those ‘weird things Harry does’.

And although Daphne herself had garnered a fair bit of interest at dinner last night, this morning things seemed to be back to normal.

The subsequent arrival of the post owls and with it _The Daily Prophet_ , quickly abused her of the notion that the world was going to carry on as usual. Or perhaps, it was more that the usual state of things had only had a temporary reprieve.

The front page and lead article of _The Prophet_ had everyone glued to it.

_Boy-Who-Lived Pays Merman To Get The Job Done by Rita Skeeter_

_Yesterday saw the Second Task of the TriWizard Tournament being held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_This Task involved the Champions having to solve a clue hidden inside the golden egg from the First Task. This clue then led the Champions to the depths of Hogwarts’ Black Lake, from which the Champions had to rescue a hostage being held in the centre of the merpeople’s village._

_But when three of the Champion’s raced into the water to rescue their hostages using either the bubblehead charm or in Viktor Krum’s case advanced transfiguration, Harry Potter decided to go fishing instead of attempting to rescue his hostage._

_Yes, you read that right, my dear readers, The-Boy-Who-Lived forsook the Greengrass heiress in favour of a favoured muggle pastime!_

_Luckily for young Miss Greengrass, Harry Potter’s violation of the ancient agreement between Hogwarts and the merpeople garnered the attention of one of the merpeople. It is this reporter’s understanding that negotiations then took place which led to the merman’s rescuing The-Boy-Who-Lived’s hostage. Harry Potter paid for this service with fish!_

_Harry Potter, along with his hostage and coincidentally his date for the Yule Ball, Daphne Greengrass, was the first – and only – Champion to complete the Task within the allotted time limit._

_Thankfully, the judges saw through Harry Potter’s ambivalence to the Task and awarded the points accordingly – Potter was given the second lowest score, only beating out Miss Delacour of Beauxbatons as she failed to complete the Task at all._

_Let us hope, dear readers, that The-Boy-Who-Lived decides to actually try in the Third and final Task and be the Champion that we all expected him to be._

Daphne dropped the paper onto the tabletop in disgust. Once again, Skeeter had done a marvellous job of reporting the facts in a way that disparaged and turned the general public against the person the article was about.

Nowhere in there did it mention that Harry couldn’t swim or that his magical knowledge was only comparable to a first year student.

“Miss Greengrass,” a voice interrupted her musings.

Looking up and around, Daphne had to clamp down on her murderous thoughts of the one who’d caused her to end up at the bottom of the lake. Thankfully, her emotionless mask hid her true thoughts, or, at least, she hoped that it did.

“Yes, Professor?” she replied.

“Your father is waiting for you in the Entrance Hall,” Professor Snape said.

Immediately, her face drained of colour.

This, she knew, wasn’t going to be pleasant.


	24. The Legalities of the Second Task

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:45am_

_Saturday, 25 February 1995_

_Entrance Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Daphne Greengrass was the epitome of a self-assured pureblood, raised in all of the traditions of old, a girl who projected an air of being better than all, of seeing all those around her as being unimportant. At least, that is what the blank expression on her face and the upright posture and assured steps cried out to all around her as she stepped from the Great Hall into the Entrance Hall.

The truth was somewhat different.

Daphne was trembling inside. Her father coming to see her at Hogwarts was unprecedented. Only the most dire of circumstances would see him here. That, or he was here to deliver the dressing down of dressing downs. She could only hope that his ire wasn’t going to be directed at her.

Either way, there was only one way to act, regardless of how she was feeling inside. Her occulmancy shields were firmly in place, hiding her emotions deep inside. Her posture and bearing were correct in every way, exactly as she’d been taught. Outwardly, no one could tell that she was scared silly and dreading the forthcoming encounter with every fibre of her being.

If she thought that she could get away with it, she’d run. Not that she had any reason to; she hadn’t done anything wrong, no matter what the paper had implied.

“Father,” she said as she came to a halt the correct five paces from him.

Cyrus Greengrass – Lord Greengrass – turned from where he was studying a tapestry and looked down his nose at his daughter, his bright blue eyes, the eyes that she’d inherited from him, seeming to pierce her very soul.

He was dressed in his finest, his black acromantula silk robes pressed perfectly, the Greengrass signal clear for all to see on his left breast. His pants, like his cloak and dragon-hide boots, were also black, only his midnight blue shirt and charcoal grey vest giving any hint of colour in today’s outfit. All in all, a dark choice of clothing and, when matched with his carefully coiffed black hair with its touch of grey at the temples, it created a very imposing image.

“Daphne,” her father finally replied. He lifted his arm, then, gesturing towards a corridor lined with classrooms. “Shall we find somewhere a little more private to hold our discussion?”

“Certainly, Father,” Daphne replied with a respectful nod.

She led him, then, in the directed direction, only stopping when she felt a tap on her shoulder as they drew adjacent to the fourth door along. Once inside the classroom, she waited while her father applied the appropriate charms to the walls and door to assure them of their privacy.

Putting away his wand, Lord Greengrass whirled around to face his daughter. She stood firm under his gaze, keeping still even as he stroked his chin, his opposing hand supporting the elbow of the cocked hand. And then he slowly circled her. Throughout it all, Daphne knew what was expected of her – to stay perfectly still under his scrutiny.

“You appear to have remembered your lessons,” her Father remarked when he was once again facing her, “but your behaviour would belie that idea.”

“In what way has my behaviour not met your standards, Father?” Daphne asked, although she was fairly certain that she already knew the answer.

Her Father, though, countered her question with one of his own. “What were my instructions to you in the last letter that I sent you?”

“To ensure that any interactions that I had with Harry Potter could not in any way tarnish my reputation or the reputation of the House of Greengrass,” she replied.

“Correct,” her Father replied. “In light of this, please explain your actions yesterday.”

“Yesterday was the Second Task of the TriWizard Tournament,” Daphne replied, believing that it was best to state the facts before she tried to defend herself, “in which the Champions were required to rescue a hostage from the Black Lake. I was placed at the bottom of the lake for Harry to rescue. In my defence, I would like to point out that I did not volunteer to be Harry’s hostage; nor was I even asked if I would be willing to fulfil that role. I did not even know that that was what the Task involved until I was revived when I emerged from the Lake.”

Her Father stared at her, obviously turning her answer over in his mind.

“If that is the case, explain to me how you ended up at the bottom of the Black Lake,” he instructed.

“The evening prior to the Task, Professor Snape found me and told me that my presence was required,” she replied. “He did not tell me _why_ my presence was required, only that it would be explained to me later. He led me to the Headmaster’s office, but I only vaguely remember walking in there before there was a flash of red light. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in lake.”

“Are you telling me that you were used in the Second Task without either your or my permission?” Lord Greengrass asked incredulously.

“Yes, Father,” she replied.

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, a clear violation of everything her mother had ever taught her, before deciding to give her father Harry’s perspective on the Task as well.

“Harry said that he worked out pretty early on that I was his hostage, but due to his upbringing and his lack of magical knowledge, he was unable to do anything about rescuing me. However, when the opportunity presented itself for him to get me out of the lake quicker than the judges would have been able to, he took it, trading for the merman’s help.”

“I see,” her father said, his expression unreadable, at least where Harry was concerned. “It would appear that I was in error, Daughter. I thought that you had disobeyed my instructions, but it seems that you’re not the one that I should be having words with.”

She nodded, once again being careful to hide her emotions, even if it was simply one of relief.

“I will leave you to your day; I’m sure that you have studying to do,” her Father said. He paused then before seeming to come to a decision. “If you see Mister Potter, give him my thanks for what he did for you.”

“Yes, Father,” she replied, unable to hide her surprise.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:20am_

_Saturday, 25 February 1995_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Ah, Cyrus, come in, come in,” Albus Dumbledore greeted when he saw the man at the door of his office.

Cyrus strode forward, his face set in an undefinable way, but that was not unexpected from the man. In all the years that Albus had known Lord Greengrass, stretching back to when the man was naught but a boy undertaking his schooling in the castle, Albus would be hard-pressed to remember a dozen times that the man had willingly shown his emotions to others.

Of course, that thought led Albus along to the thought that the man’s daughters were very similar, especially the older of the two, Daphne.

“This is not a social visit,” Cyrus stated, taking a seat in the offered chair across the desk from Albus.

“No?” Albus replied, his heart sinking as he realised what this meeting was going to entail.

_It would be so much easier_ , Albus mused _, if people would learn to mind their places in the world._

In this instance, Albus, as Headmaster of Hogwarts knew what he was doing with the students that he was responsible for; Cyrus Greengrass was at his best in the midst of a Wizengamot debate, often moderating both sides, the light and the dark, to something that society could live and progress with.

“No,” Cyrus confirmed. “I want to know how my daughter ended up at the bottom of the lake yesterday.”

“Ah,” Albus began, sitting back and tilting his head slightly so that his twinkling eyes could look at the other man over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “Well, you see, the Task called for each Champion to rescue a hostage, someone who they felt an emotional connection with, from the bottom of the Black Lake. And when it came to Mister Potter, well, due to his short time back in the magical world, it was decided that the obvious choice was the one that he had taken to the Yule Ball as his date.”

“I see. And who made this determination?” Cyrus asked.

“I did,” Albus replied simply.

“Without consulting either me or her mother?” Cyrus asked. “As her parents, and considering that Daphne is underage, I would have expected you to seek our permission before placing her in such a perilous position.”

“But young Miss Greengrass was never in any danger,” Albus countered. “I performed the charm myself that would suspend your daughter’s bodily functions – including her heartrate and her need to breathe – while she was underwater. The touch of air on her skin was enough to counter the charm and to begin her normal bodily functions once more.”

“And you felt that this was safe for my teenage daughter?” Cyrus asked, his voice rising in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“Perfectly,” Albus replied, maintaining his calm demeanour in an effort to counter the other man’s agitation.

“You had no right!” Cyrus stated, slamming his fist onto the desk. “Stopping my daughter’s heart and her breathing is tantamount to killing her. You say that it was ‘safe’, but what if something had gone wrong?”

“There were safeguards in place,” Albus assured him. “Merchieftainess Murcus herself was watching over the four hostages and at the first indication of something being amiss, she would have brought the hostages to the surface.”

Cyrus stared at him, his mouth moving for nearly half a minute before he finally seemed to find his words once again.

“You were relying on a merman to ensure that there were no problems? They don’t even breathe air! How would they know if there was a problem in the first place?”

“I have every confidence in Merchieftainess Murcus,” Albus stated in such a way as to ensure that the topic was closed.

“You still had no right to include my daughter in the Second Task without my permission,” Cyrus said, repeating an earlier statement.

“I believe that you are in error there, Cyrus,” Albus told the man. “As Headmaster, I am responsible for the students in my care and am empowered to decide whether or not they are allowed to participate in any activity within the bounds of the school. And the Black Lake is inside those bounds. It is no different than allowing a student to participate in a Care of Magical Creatures lesson on hippogryphs if I deem the lesson safe enough.”

Cyrus seemed to deflate somewhat and Albus smiled internally. It was always so very pleasing when others understood the power that he had been entrusted with.

“You’re saying that because I agreed to send my daughter here to Hogwarts, that I also agreed to bow to your judgement in the appropriateness and inherent safety of a school-related activity?” Cyrus said slowly.

“Correct,” Albus smiled.

“Explain to me how stunning my daughter and placing her at the bottom of a lake without her knowledge also falls under that remit,” Cyrus demanded.

Albus faltered slightly. Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest way of doing things, but it had been done and there was nothing for it but to go forward.

“I determined that there was likely to be some resistance upon the part of the prospective hostages, resistance that could cause those students deep distress. In order to prevent this upset, I took the precaution of stunning them and performing the charms on their unconscious selves. The fact that none of the students were harmed nor have any expressed any dissatisfaction with the way that things were done, leads me to believe that I prevented any undue stress upon their lives,” he explained.

Cyrus sat back in his chair, staring hard.

“An interesting interpretation,” Cyrus finally said. “Not one that I agree with in the slightest, though. It also sounds like something that I should take up with others, to see if their interpretation of events corresponds to yours, if nothing else. For now, however, I expect to be informed of anything similar that you want to put either of my daughters through in the future. Failure to do so will result in their removal from Hogwarts.”

“As you wish,” Albus said, bowing his head in acquiescence, even as he didn’t believe a word of it.

Cyrus Greengrass may be currently upset, most likely from the bad light that the House of Greengrass was shown in in _The Daily Prophet_ that morning, but he was certain that nothing would make the man pull his daughters from the premier school of magic in the country.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:40am_

_Saturday, 25 February 1995_

_Office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, London_

.

Amelia Bones stared across her desk at Cyrus Greengrass. Ordinarily, she had little to do with the other man. Even when they were in the Wizengamot Chambers together, their seats and occasionally their views, were set apart. But one thing that she’d always known about the man: he did what he thought was right, even if that meant going against his friends or the mainstream.

Plus the fact that he’d never shown any interest in aligning himself with the extreme pureblood faction, not even during the war when they were winning in every conceivable way possible. And that made her trust the man even more. That wasn’t to say that Cyrus Greengrass didn’t always support the pureblood way of thinking, for he did, but it was more than that, it was their very culture, their way of life, that he sought to promote.

He’d made it clear that his position was that if the muggleborn and half-blood wanted to join magical society, that was fine and all to magical Britain’s gain, but those same people needed to learn about their culture and adjust to it. _They_ were the ones coming in, therefore _they_ should be the ones to change to fit in.

And now he’d brought her a potential kneazel’s worth of trouble. One of the most powerful wizards in their society, both magically and politically, had skirted the law. Oh, a case could be made for Albus Dumbledore having broken it, but it would be a hard sell, and not only because of who had bent said law.

She’d listened to Cyrus’ tale and taken her usual copious amounts of notes and she could see his side of things. But she also knew exactly how much leeway the Headmaster of Hogwarts was given. She doubted that she could charge him with anything in relation to putting the hostages at the bottom of the lake.

But stunning them first? Maybe, just maybe …

At the very least, it was an act of aggression, an attack, assault even, something that her Department needed to look into.

Briefly she considered passing it off to one of her aurors but discarded that idea almost immediately. Something that had this much potential to backfire should be handled by the top brass: herself.

“Leave it with me, Lord Greengrass,” she assured the man across the desk from her. “Give me a day or two and I’ll let you know where the law stands on this.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_3:00pm_

_Saturday, 25 February 1995_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Albus, may I come through?” the head of Amelia Bones asked from within the green-tinged embers of the fireplace.

“Certainly,” Albus replied.

By the time that Amelia had withdrawn her head, stood and stepped through the floo system, Albus had arisen from his seat behind his desk.

“What is it that I can do for you, Amelia?” Albus asked.

“There has been a complaint,” she replied.

Albus held up a hand, preventing her from continuing.

“No doubt you had a visit from Cyrus Greengrass,” he stated more than questioned. “Let me assure you that everything that I have done in the past couple of days has been entirely within my rights as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Amelia frowned at him, her monocle biting into the skin of her face.

“Using your authority to place students at the bottom of the lake without even informing their parents, let alone asking their permission, is skirting the very edge of the law, Albus. But that is nothing compared to assaulting a minor.”

“Assault?” Albus questioned, his hands outstretched as though to ward off the very accusation. “I can assure you that I did no such thing.”

“You stunned a student, Albus,” Amelia stated. “And I’d be willing to bet that Daphne Greengrass wasn’t the only one.”

“I explained my actions to Cyrus,” Albus sighed. “I did what was necessary in order to prevent undue stress on young Miss Greengrass and to ensure that she did not injure herself.”

“You assaulted a minor, Albus, no matter how you want to dress it up,” Amelia retorted. “And by your very statement, it is clear that you do not dispute the accusation.”

Amelia had to bite the inside of her cheek at the way the old man merely blinked his twinkling blue eyes at her.

“I’m sure that you will find that pursuing this will be a waste of your time, Amelia,” Dumbledore finally said. “At best, the offence that you seem intent on pursuing will result in a ‘slap on the wrist’ and a request not to do it again. My defence and my reputation will ensure that. More than likely, any charges that you wish to bring will be dropped long before they reach the courts.”

As much as she hated to admit it, Amelia knew that he was right. Still, documenting this completely and putting it in his file in case anything like this ever happened again could make this a case of a behavioural pattern. Getting statements from the other three ‘hostages’ would also be useful.

“As you say, Albus,” she finally conceded. “But as Head of the DMLE, I must inform you that if anything like this ever happens again, I will be pressing charges and pursing this case through not only the courts, but the Wizengamot as well.”

“You do as you see fit, Amelia,” Albus replied in a tone that was completely condescending.

“If you don’t mind, I might take the time to drop in on Susan while I’m here,” Amelia said, thinking of the first thing that she could that could get her access to the people that she wanted within the castle.

“Of course, of course, it is always good to take the opportunity to visit with family when it arises,” Albus said.

And with a nod of farewell, Amelia strode across the room and out the door.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_3:45pm_

_Saturday, 25 February 1995_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Amelia was only slightly surprised to be told that her niece was currently in Harry’s quarters. And she was even less surprised to find Daphne, Hermione and Neville in there as well. Susan’s letters home over the past few months had highlighted the fact that the five of them had become good friends and often spent some time together each week outside of the times set aside for tutoring Harry.

“You really can’t charge him?” Daphne asked incredulously.

“For putting you and Hermione in suspended animation and placing you at the bottom of the lake? No,” Amelia replied. “He’s used the bylaws of Hogwarts to cover himself there. And while I _could_ charge him for assault for stunning you when you were taken to his office, his defence would be enough to give him the benefit of ‘reasonable doubt’. The charges simply wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“So there’s nothing you can do?” Hermione asked.

“For the moment, no,” Amelia replied. “I have both of your statements, as well as your father’s, Daphne. I will also speak to Miss Chang and the Delacours and place them all in the Headmaster’s file so that they can be used against him if he ever does anything like it again.”

“I don’t think my Gran will like what Dumbledore’s been doing, even if it _is_ within the bylaws of Hogwarts,” Neville said. “Maybe you could tell her so that the Board of Governors know?”

“That’s a good idea, Neville. I’ll do that,” Amelia nodded.

“Seems to me that he wanted to make sure that everyone did what he wanted so that the Second Task went the way they’d planned,” Susan said.

Harry snorted at that. “If that’s the case, I think that I kind of bollocked it up for him.”

Amelia looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Well, after the Second Task, Dumbledore pulled me into his office and kept on about how paying the merman like I did wasn’t the actions of a Champion or a hero,” he replied.

Amelia sat back in her chair and thoughtfully rubbed her chin. “Did he really? Now, that _is_ interesting.”


	25. In Two Minds

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_2:03am_

_Sunday, 26 February 1995_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

With a grumble, Harry willed a small ball of light to appear above his head. Angling his watch, he made out the time and grumbled all the more. Two o’clock and he was still awake. And barely a quarter of an hour since the last time that he’d checked.

Deciding to give in, Harry rolled out of bed and padded across the room. The bare stone floor was exceedingly cold, even with socks on his feet. On his way past his trunk, he swiped the block of wood and carving tools that he’d left on top and carried them with him.

His mere entrance was enough to light the half dozen torches in the lounge room, adding their light to the dull red glow that was all that was left of the fire in his grate. He let himself fall into the lounge chair and slumped back.

He’d stayed up later than usual after his friends and Madam Bones had left, his brain whirling with what he’d learned. And then, when he’d finally hauled himself off to bed, it was only to spend the next few hours tossing and turning.

Harry knew that his mind was far too active to sleep. To be honest, he’d known it before he’d even gone to bed. What he needed was to calm his mind, to settle his thoughts and then, hopefully, he’d finally be able to sleep.

Sitting up a little straighter, he examined the piece of wood in his hand. It was a soft pear wood, a piece that Hagrid had found for him, just like his pipes. Already he’d made a start on it, the shape of the merman beginning to appear, at least within his mind where he could see what the wood would become.

Taking up his small knife, he began slicing tiny slivers of wood away. It seemed that his fingers had decided to carve a collection of magical creatures and beings. He already had a tiny carved dragon, a goblin and a unicorn in the special display case that he’d made to hold his carvings, and now there was going to be a merman to add to the collection.

As his fingers worked on carving out the merman from the pear wood, his mind delved backwards to the last time that he’d seen a merman: the lake during the Second Task. And that’s where the origin of his sleeplessness stemmed from.

The Second Task. People had been put into an enchanted sleep and placed at the bottom of the lake, Daphne and Hermione among them. And it was all done by the Headmaster without even a ‘by your leave’ to their parents. One man had the power to do whatever he wanted to the students in his care. And it was all legal. There was nothing that could be done to prevent him doing something similar to others if he felt it was for their greater educational good. And as long as he could justify it, then someone like Madam Bones, the Head of the Magical Police, couldn’t touch him.

Harry had to wonder exactly what else the man had done in the past that would be considered dubious to the non-magical world at the very least, let alone illegal.

Of course, he considered, the fact that his name had ended up in a magical Goblet, meaning that he was stuck in a Tournament that he had no interest in, not to mention the fact that he was woefully unprepared for, seemed to be just one such occurrence. And that really was becoming less of a mystery as time wore on.

Madam Bones had assured him that the experts had said that the Goblet would have only accepted _his_ signature, no one else’s. That meant that whoever had put his name into the Goblet _had_ to have known where he was, which, as far as anyone knew, boiled down to three people: Hagrid, Professor McGonagall or Headmaster Dumbledore.

Hagrid had been ruled out due to the magic that would have been needed to be performed on the Goblet itself in order to get it to accept a fourth champion. Professor McGonagall, regardless of how strict she was, seemed too nice to do such a thing.

And as for Dumbledore, well, he was looking more and more likely, especially with his ‘hero and Champion’ garbage that he was spewing the other day. And now finding out that he could get away with just about anything as long as it was for the ‘greater educational good’ of the students …

Harry found his strokes becoming more and more vicious and promptly pulled his hands away before the merman’s head was chopped off. After taking a dozen or so calming breaths, he carefully began carving once again.

With everything that he’d been told and experienced so far in the Tournament, Harry wasn’t sure that he even wanted to be anywhere near the magical world. _This_ was the place where bigotry ran riot; where it was considered normal to pit a fourteen year old against a full-grown nesting mother dragon; students were put at the bottom of a lake; an entire country was disappointed that said fourteen year old didn’t risk life and limb swimming to the depths of a lake in February to rescue other students; and where school Headmasters could seemingly do whatever they wanted.

But against all of that was one thing. And it was a doozy: **magic**!

Magic. Being able to make things fly; create water from the end of his wand; where a simple spell could change the colour of anything; where dragons, unicorns, goblins, centaurs, giants and fairies were real; and where, by simply willing it into being, a ball of light could appear in his very hand.

Knowing what he did now, not to mention the tantalizing hints of what else there still was out there to learn, Harry knew that he couldn’t give it up.

And he had friends here – Neville, Susan, Hermione and Daphne.

Daphne.

Now there was someone that he could spend all night thinking about and still realize how little they knew of each other. They came from two different worlds, cultures apart and yet, somehow, they’d managed to become friends, even with the rocky arguments that they’d already had. He was sure that there’d be more arguments, more misunderstandings, later. And yet, there was no way that he was willing to give up the opportunity to get to know her better.

The question Harry had to ask himself, though, was whether he could willingly submit himself to staying here at the castle with Daphne and his friends under the Headmastership of someone with the power of Dumbledore?

Learning magic was important but that didn’t mean that he had to learn it here. He wasn’t yet a Hogwarts’ student.

Setting aside his knife and wood for a moment, Harry extended his hand back towards his bedroom and closed his eyes. Visualising what he wanted, he _willed_ the five letters to come to him.

And come they did. Five envelopes soared through the door and across the room, straight to him to catch one after the other. No, there was no way that he could ever give up magic, nor learning more and more of it.

He’d read each of these letters countless times and each time, they’d given him a warm, fuzzy feeling. That the people who’d written these letters were each imploring him to come to their countries solely because of an ability that the magical people of Britain were frightened of.

Perhaps, he decided, the answer could be here?

Harry flipped through each envelope again, reciting to himself where each one originated: the Romanian Dragon Reserve; the Australasian Dragon Preserve; the Aztec Reserve for Dragons; the Draconian Sanctuary of Tanzania; and the Mongolian Dragon Park.

A sharp triple tap at the window spun Harry’s head around. There, he found a brilliant white owl, her intense yellow eyes looking in at him.

“Hello, Hedwig,” Harry said as he stood from the couch and began making his way across the room. “I’m guessing that you sensed that I was thinking of sending a letter?”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:35pm_

_Tuesday, 28 February 1995_

_Entrance Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Good evening, Mister Potter,” the tiny, smiling Professor Flitwick said.

“Professor,” Harry returned.

The fact that his Charms professor had asked to meet him in the Entrance Hall instead of in his classroom as per usual had Harry quite curious.

“For tonight’s lesson, I felt that we needed a little more room,” Professor Flitwick explained. “So, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you out to our firing range.”

_Firing range_! Harry thought, his eyes widening comically in surprise.

But then he thought about it.

In the muggle world, a firing range involved, well, firing weapons, usually guns. His eyes were drawn to his wrist where his wand was currently sitting in its holster. He supposed that when every witch or wizard carried their own weapon, so to speak, it made sense that they’d need to learn how to fire spells from it at targets. Not that he’d ever seen or heard of anyone doing so in a ‘firing range’ before.

Obediently, Harry followed the tiny Charms Master from the castle and down the wide, expansive lawn towards the Forbidden Forest. As it was still February, albeit the very end of the month, the world outside the castle was covered in the white snow from the fresh fall that afternoon. From the look of the low, heavy clouds, Harry guessed that there’d be another blanket of snow overnight.

On the very edge of the forest, Professor Flitwick stopped and looked expectantly at Harry. Harry, though, wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be seeing.

“Your firing range,” the Professor said, gesturing behind him.

“Professor?” Harry asked.

Professor Flitwick smiled, making the corners of his moustache twitch.

“This evening you’ll be learning the _incendio_ charm,” he said.

And then it clicked.

“ _Incendio_ ,” Harry repeated. “As in, the fire charm?”

“Exactly. Thus, our firing range,” Professor Flitwick stated.

Harry couldn’t help himself but to laugh.

“Firing range,” he managed around his chuckles. “for learning to control fire.”

“Of course,” a confused-looking Professor Flitwick replied. “Were you expecting something different?”

“Well, sort of,” Harry chuckled, but waving it away. “The term ‘firing range’ has a different connotation in the non-magical world. Doesn’t matter. So _incendio_?”

For a second, Harry was sure that his Professor was going to ask him about the other meaning of the term, but instead, he launched into his lesson.

“ _Incendio_ is a very useful little spell. It can be used from simply lighting a candle to lighting a fire in a fireplace and even setting a building on fire. The incantation and the wand movement is identical regardless of the use that you wish to put it to. The only difference is in the amount of power that you put behind the spell.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Watch carefully as I demonstrate the wand movement,” Professor Flitwick instructed.

Harry watched and then mimicked the simple flick that incorporated a small wrist movement in it.

“Wonderful, wonderful, you did that perfectly,” Professor Flitwick exclaimed. “Now, observe the firing range. We will not only be learning the spell, but also how to control the power that you place behind your spell. And, because of your unique skillset, Mister Potter, you will also be performing this spell both with and without your wand.”

Harry nodded as he took a couple of steps forward, closer to the ‘firing range’.

The area looked ideal for learning to use and control the fire charm. At one end, planted in the snow, were a dozen large, thick candles. A little to one side of them were piles of dry, dead leaves. Next in line were clumps of tiny sticks. Then came piles of larger, thicker sticks. And at the very end, were logs the thickness of his thigh.

“Let’s begin, Mister Potter,” Professor Flitwick stated, motioning for him to take out his wand. “I want you to concentrate on just one of the candles. In your mind, picture the candle burning with a steady, small flame. That is the outcome that we are looking for here. Now, when you’re ready, I want you to cast the spell. Accuracy is important, here. You are _only_ to light the one candle that you are focussing on.”

Harry nodded. His eyes were focussed on the candle closest to him. Taking a deep breath, he raised his wand.

“ _Incendio_!” he intoned, flicking his wand in the correct pattern as he did so.

A burst of brilliant red-gold flames burst from Harry’s wand, melting snow between he and the candle in a two foot wide path before striking the candle and melting it into a puddle of white wax all over the now exposed brown dirt.

“Perhaps a little too much power,” Professor Flitwick squeaked.

“Yeah, I think I did overdo it slightly,” Harry deadpanned.

“Well, no harm done. Pick a different candle and try again. But this time, put a little less power into it. Perhaps take a little longer to ensure that you have a picture in your mind of exactly the outcome that you want,” Professor Flitwick stated.

Harry nodded, attempting to do just that. Finally, when he thought that he had it firm in his mind, he tried again.

“ _Incendio_!”

This time, only the smallest spark travelled between his wand and the candle’s wick. At first, Harry thought that he’d underpowered his spell too much, but apparently he was wrong, for, after a second or two, the wick sparked into life, setting the candle alight, exactly as he’d imagined.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, clapping his hands and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Once more, please,” he instructed.

And Harry did, taking his time to light a further four candles in a row.

When Professor Flitwick was satisfied, the tiny Charms Master waved his wand, extinguishing the lit candles.

“Now, let’s try it with your wandless magic,” he said. “Could you produce your wonderful light on the palm of your hand, please?”

Raising his palm, Harry willed a ball of light to appear.

Hesitantly, Professor Flitwick probed the yellow ball of light with his own hands, before nodding.

“As I thought,” he said. “Your light is without heat. I want you to concentrate on its temperature. Feel the heat in your hand.”

Harry frowned at his light. It’d never been hot before, or cold for that matter. But with Professor Flitwick’s coaching he was gradually able to make the light warmer until he could feel it warming up not only his hand, but also his face.

“Very good,” Professor Flitwick said. “ _This_ is what I want you to use to light the candles. Imagine your ball of heat appearing just above the wick of the candle and, once the candle is alight, extinguish your light, leaving just the flame on the candle.”

Harry concentrated on his chosen candle, trying to picture exactly what Professor Flitwick wanted. His face screwed up in concentration as he tried to _will_ a ball of heated light to appear exactly where he wanted it. His brow began to bead with sweat as he applied more and more effort.

Finally, after five minutes of nothing happening, Harry decided to change tacks.

Lifting his hand once more, he willed a ball of lighted heat to appear just above his palm. Then, with nearly no effort, he sent the ball flying through the air towards the candle until it was perfectly positioned. The ball only needed to hover for a fraction of a minute before the candle’s wick burst into flames and he was able to extinguish the original ball.

“An unorthodox method, Mister Potter, but effective nonetheless,” Professor Flitwick praised.

“Perhaps if we have some time at the end, you can practice that some more. For now, let’s turn our attention to the next challenge: the pile of leaves.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:45pm_

_Friday, 3 March 1995_

_Chambers of the Board of Governors, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“I call this session of the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors to order,” Lucius Malfoy said, eliciting silence around the large rectangular table, at which he, as Chair, sat at the head of.

“This emergency session was called for by Madam Longbottom,” he continued. “I call on Madam Longbottom to outline the reason that we are all here tonight.”

“Thank you, Chair Malfoy,” Augusta said, inclining her head to him as she rose from her seat. “It has recently been brought to my attention that we may have been negligent in our responsibilities to the students of this illustrious school.”

“How so?” Elias Featherwhistle asked, leaning forward, his grey bushy eyebrows nearly covering his eyes.

“We’ve always fulfilled our duties correctly and to the letter,” Marius Stoon agreed.

Augusta held up a hand, stopping the flow of protests that she could see erupting. This body of people, each one representing families that went back generations, all of whom had attended Hogwarts, were, like herself, sticklers for details.

“While it is true that we have upheld every rule and bylaw and carefully consulted and discussed any amendments that have arisen,” she continued, “we have also not taken into account those rules and bylaws that may have become outdated.”

The swinging heads and mutters told Augusta that she had their attention and that that attention wasn’t completely in her favour. None of them liked the idea of looking too closely at a system that had always worked just fine.

“The issue that was brought to my attention stemmed from the Second Task of the TriWizard Tournament,” Augusta stated. “Part of that Task involved the Champions rescuing a ‘hostage’ held at the bottom of the Black Lake in the village of the merpeople. But when those hostages were chosen for the Champions, the Headmaster used the powers at his disposal to place those children at the bottom of the lake without consulting either the children themselves or their parents.”

“What of it, there was no harm done?” Elias asked.

“Shouldn’t Albus be here for this?” Elphias Doge asked, looking around the table.

Augusta frowned at the man. She had never been comfortable with his appointment to the Board. He had no family at Hogwarts and the seat that he held had traditionally always been held by the Potters. Until now, she’d never questioned his appointment, especially as it had come at the request of Dumbledore himself.

“I think that this issue bears discussing before we bring the Headmaster in,” Lucius stated.

Augusta was nearly caught flatfooted. Never before had Lucius agreed with anything that she had either said or proposed.

“Placing those children at the bottom of the lake brought us perilously close to a major diplomatic incident – one of those students was the eight year old daughter of Jean-Claude Delacour, the Head of the French Auror Department and another was Cho Chang, the daughter of the Chinese diplomat to the Ministry of Magic,” Augusta stated.

“Foreigners,” Elias waved off. “And wasn’t another a muggle-born? None are of any concern.”

“What about the fact that the fourth was the Greengrass heiress?” Augusta spat back. “Cyrus Greengrass was so incensed that he not only took his complaint straight to Dumbledore but also to Amelia Bones!”

“What is it that you are wanting from the Board?” Lucius asked, having to raise his voice to cut off a number of the others around the table.

Augusta took a couple of slower breaths to regain her composure.

“The powers that the Hogwarts’ charter allows the Headmaster means that his actions that included stunning students, placing them in a state of suspended animation and then placing them at the bottom of the Black Lake were wholly legal, regardless of how morally questionable they are,” Augusta stated. “What I am asking the Board to do is to review the purview that the Headmaster of Hogwarts works under to determine whether or not we have allowed too much power to be placed in his hands.”

Stunned silence filled the room for the next few minutes, regardless of the number of mouths opening and closing as their owners tried to think of something to say.

“What you’re proposing is the work of months, if not years,” Marius gasped.

“Yes. It is. But wouldn’t you feel better knowing that your children, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren felt safe here at Hogwarts. Wouldn’t you feel better knowing that the Headmaster didn’t have the power to do whatever in Merlin’s name he wanted, provided that he could justify it as being for the student’s ‘greater educational good’?” Augusta countered.

Slowly, more and more nods appeared around the table.

“Let’s put Madam Longbottom’s proposal to the vote, then, shall we?” Lucius said. “All those in favour of examining the rules and bylaws that govern the power held by the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, raise your hands.”

One by one hands were raised until, very reluctantly, the last, Elphias Doge, also raised his hand as well.

“The motion is passed,” Lucius stated. “Madam Longbottom, I shall leave it to you to gather your committee and begin this work. We shall expect progress reports monthly. If there is no other business? Thank you all for coming.”


	26. A Game of Runes

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_2:10pm_

_Sunday, 5 March 1995_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Sirius! I didn’t know you were coming today. What are you doing here?” Harry exclaimed as he opened the door to his quarters.

The old Marauder grinned at him. “Can’t a Godfather come to see his Godson every now and again?”

“I guess so,” Harry replied, not that he’d ever really thought about it.

In actual fact, Harry was still getting used to the idea of having a Godfather, let alone a person, an adult no less, who was interested in him and voluntarily wanted to spend time with him.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Sirius asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied quickly, opening the door wide.

“How’ve you been, Harry?” Sirius asked as he gave him a brief hug.

“Good,” Harry replied automatically.

Sirius’ grey eyes stared at him searchingly.

“Really? ’Cause I had a visit from Amelia Bones the other day and she thought that you could use someone to talk to,” Sirius stated.

Harry looked away. Madam Bones and his friends had had a long talk about everything that had been going on with the Tournament and, while he’d hidden a lot of what he was thinking, he guessed that it wouldn’t have taken the head of magical police much to read whatever vibes he was putting out.

Glancing back, he saw that Sirius was watching him intently, evidently waiting for an answer to his question. In the end, the only way that Harry knew how to answer was to shrug, so that’s what he did.

“How’ve your lessons been going?” Sirius asked.

Harry appreciated the blatant change of topic and latched on to it greedily.

“Okay. Good, I think,” he replied. “Professor Flitwick’s been pushing me pretty hard. He says that I’ve got all the first year Charms spells down now and has started teaching me a mixture of second and third year spells. I’m not quite as far as that in Transfiguration, but close. At least, I think so. Madam Walker says that I’m adequate with my Potions, whatever that means. And all the rest seem to be going okay.”

“That’s great, Harry,” Sirius beamed. “At this rate, you’ll be caught up to your year-mates in no time.”

_That_ was painfully close to what he’d been wrestling with for the past week.

“I’m actually working on my end-of-year Ancient Runes project at the moment,” Harry said, having desperately sought for something to say to get away from the other topic. “Would you like to see it?”

“I’d love to,” Sirius exclaimed.

“You know,” he continued as Harry led him down into his workshop, “I took Ancient Runes when I went here. It was interesting but not really my bottle of butterbeer. Remus, now, he _loved_ that sort of thing. Lily, too. I think it was in her top three favourite subjects, along with Potions and Charms.”

Harry led his Godfather to the workbench in the centre of the room and allowed the man a chance to look it all over before he started explaining what he was doing.

The workbench was a mess of pieces of wood, sheets of paper and tools. In the very centre was a large piece of pine, a meter long by half that wide. Drawn on it in pencil were a series of lines, each one corresponding to where a piece of wood would be eventually be attached to it.

“What exactly is the project that you’ve been given?” Sirius asked.

“Seeing as how I’m supposed to be being pushed to catch up with the others my age, Professor Babbling wants me to produce a unique way of using a minimum of five different runic arrays all carved into a medium of my choice,” Harry explained.

“Okay,” Sirius said slowly, his eyes roving over the table.

“I’m guessing that these are the arrays that you’re going to use?” he continued, pointing to a sheet of paper to the side of the bench.

“Yep,” Harry replied.

“Let me see,” Sirius said, taking up the sheet and beginning to squint at it, his head turning this way and that. “These four are colour changing runes – yellow, green, blue and … red?”

Harry nodded, a smile on his face. Seeing that, Sirius turned back to scrutinize the others.

“Hmm. I think these two are for speed. Fast and slow?” he questioned. At Harry’s grin, he continued. “That one’s a cancelling rune. But the last two? Nope, no idea.”

“It took me a bit to look them up and to get them right as well,” Harry admitted. He pointed to each runic array as he explained them to his Godfather. “This one will make an object glow. And this one duplicates objects, as in, if an object touches it, then a copy of it will be made, giving you two of it.”

Sirius nodded. “Like the _gemino_ charm.”

Harry looked at him, his head askew.

“Does the same thing; duplicates objects,” Sirius explained. “Exactly how are you going to use all of these arrays?”

Harry grinned at him. “I’m making a … a game, I guess.”

Here he started to snatch pieces of wood from the bench and arrange them so that they were leaning against each other on the pencil-drawn lines on the large pine piece in the centre of the bench.

“You see, I’ll attach these pieces like this and add in sides and a clear plastic top, leaving a small opening at the top and bottom,” he explained. “The runic arrays will be carved in the wood throughout the wooden maze. Then, you drop a ball into the top and move the whole box from side to side to get it to go where you want. The aim is to get it to come out the bottom.  Where the arrays come in is that they’re going to be carved into the wood throughout the maze for the ball to pass over on its journey.”

Sirius’ nod began slow before quickly increasing in pace, matching the growing grin on his face.

“And the ball will change depending on which arrays it touches!” he exclaimed in understanding.

“Exactly!” Harry agreed. “I’ll put the rune to make the ball glow right near the top so that you can even play it in the dark and spread the others – colour change, increase or decrease speed and duplicate – throughout the maze. And just before the hole where the ball exits, I’ll put the cancelling charm so that the ball comes out the same as it did going in.”

“That’s … that’s amazing, Harry! You came up with it all by yourself?” Sirius asked.

“Yep, it’s all mine,” he replied.

“You could easily sell something like that,” Sirius said excitedly. “Kids’d snap it up in an instant. Merlin, _adults_ would buy it! Not to mention people like Professor Babbling who could use it to help teach runic arrays.”

Harry blinked at his Godfather’s enthusiasm.

“You really think so?” he asked.

“I know so,” Sirius stated emphatically.

“Well, that’s something to think about, I suppose,” Harry replied. “Assuming that it works the way I’m imagining.”

“It will,” Sirius said confidently. “And when it does, I’ll help you market the thing, if you like. I’d even back you financially, if you need it. Not that you would – the Potters were old money, you’ve probably got tons of gold lying around your vault doing nothing.”

Harry froze. Sirius’ enthusiasm hit him hard. This man was his Godfather. He would turn up unexpectedly at the castle just to see him, to offer an ear if he needed to talk while at the same time being okay with just spending time not talking if that’s what Harry needed. And in all of his decision-making of what to do next year and the years after that, Harry had never once thought about his Godfather. Daphne, Hermione, Neville and Susan, yes, but Sirius, no.

“Uh, Sirius,” he began nervously, snagging one of the stools and dropping onto it. “Can we talk about … something?”

Instantly, Sirius changed from his excited puppy mode into something a lot more, well, serious. He, too, grabbed a stool and sat upon it facing Harry.

“Sure, Pup. What’s up?” he asked.

“How much … how much do you know of what my life’s been like?” Harry asked nervously. “Here in the castle and … and before?”

“I know bits and pieces and guessed a bit more,” Sirius replied. “How about you just tell me what you’re comfortable with?”

Harry nodded. “My life back at Privet Drive wasn’t … wasn’t great. I’ve been working my butt off for my relatives since I could walk. And then Uncle Vernon made me start working at _Keating’s_ when I was eleven. Terry and the other guys did what they could for me: they taught me woodworking and acted all mean and nasty towards me when Uncle Vernon was around. They told me that they figured that if they didn’t, Vernon’d just find somewhere else for me to work, somewhere where it’d be a lot worse for me. Yes, they gave all the wages that I earnt to Uncle Vernon, but they gave me something even more precious, the skills that I’d need to eventually earn my own living _away_ from the Dursleys. And when I left, they gave me these tools and this wood.

“That’s why I jumped at the chance to leave Privet Drive when it was offered to me,” Harry explained. “I knew that it wasn’t a great situation, but one year of being stuck in this Tournament in exchange for my emancipation, my freedom? Sounded like a brilliant deal to me. Not to mention getting to learn magic and make some new friends away from my cousin.

“But it hasn’t been that great here. Yeah, I’ve been learning magic. But the bigotry that I’ve encountered, just based on who someone’s parents are, is ridiculous. Or on someone’s skills, like my ability to talk to snakes. It’s completely harmless, and yet the entire country seems to think that I’m some dangerous psychopath that’s destined to kill them all. There’s only a few people here that’ve ignored it and wanted to be my friends.

“And then there’s all the garbage that’s been going on with this Tournament,” he continued. “Pitting kids against dragons. Sticking people at the bottom of a Lake in the middle of winter. Having someone’s name come out a goblet that magically binds them into a deadly contract. It’s all ridiculous! And all perfectly legal, thank you very much, because of some archaic laws that the rest of the world threw out centuries ago!”

“You’ve had it rough,” Sirius said quietly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder after he finished ranting.

“I know,” he replied, his body still heaving with the emotions that had been pouring out of him. “I know and that’s … that’s why I sent off a letter last week.”

“A letter?” Sirius asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I sent a letter to Charlie Weasley. He works at the Romanian Dragon Reserve. They invited me to work there. As a consultant. Apparently being able to talk to snakes and dragons and other reptiles is a really big deal in other parts of the world. Actually, they weren’t the only ones to offer me a job. Every single dragon reserve in the world send me a job invitation after the First Task.”

“That’s … that’s good, Harry,” Sirius said hesitantly. “I’m glad that there’s some, at least, who can see the value in your skills.”

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s why I sent Charlie the letter,” Harry replied.

“What did you say in this letter?” Sirius asked carefully.

“I asked him about the job offer,” Harry replied. “Exactly what it would entail and what the possibility would be that I’d be able to continue my magical education over there if I accepted a job with them.”

Sirius’ jaw dropped and be blinked hard at Harry.

“You’d leave Britain?” he finally asked.

Harry nodded slowly. “Apart from you and Daphne, Neville, Hermine and Susan, there really isn’t anyone that I’d miss here. Oh, and maybe Professor Flitwick.”

“But what about Hogwarts?” Sirius asked.

“I’m not a student here,” Harry replied. “And frankly, after seeing what the Headmaster is allowed to get away with, I don’t want to be.”

Harry watched Sirius process these revelations. He could see that it was a big deal for the man and something that he was having a hard time accepting.

“If this is what will make you happy,” Sirius eventually said, “then I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

“R-really?” Harry asked.

“Really. I just want you to be happy, Harry. And if that means moving somewhere else, then so be it,” Sirius replied. “Just so long as we stay in touch and I can come visit you, then we’re all good.”

Harry launched himself from his stool to grab his Godfather in a hug.

“Thank you,” he murmured into Sirius’ neck.

“Anytime, kiddo,” Sirius said back. “Now, if there’s a possibility of you leaving sometime, then I’d better start making up for the thirteen Christmases and birthdays that I’ve missed.”

Harry pulled back and stared curiously at the man. But before he could ask anything, Sirius pulled a small package out of his pocket, enlarged it with a tap of his wand and presented it to him.

“But it’s not my birthday!” Harry protested, “nor Christmas.”

“I know that,” Sirius replied, prodding Harry with the gift until he took it. “Can’t a Godfather do something nice for his Godson without it being a special day? I saw this and thought of you. So, here you are.”

“Okay, okay, thank you,” Harry said.

As he did with his Christmas gifts, Harry made sure to unwrap it carefully. When the paper had finally fallen away, he found a book: _Magical Woodworking Tips and Tricks_. His eyes bulged and he looked up at Sirius, a massive smile on his face before his eyes quickly dropped back to the book.

Flipping through it, he found an array of spells and charms for use in woodworking. There were ones to transfigure a block of wood into planks; others for boring holes into wood; some to change one type of wood into another; and even a whole host of ones designed for shaping wood into different shapes and patterns.

“Wow, Sirius! This is brilliant! Thank you so much!” Harry exclaimed.

“I’m glad you like it,” Sirius replied. “How about we try some of them out?”

In reply, Harry dashed across the room and grabbed a handful of offcuts out of one of the bins in the corner.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:35am_

_Thursday, 9 March 1995_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

An unexpected jerk had Harry grasping at the handle of his broom, his knuckles almost turning white with the death grip that he’d taken. Once the broom had levelled off once more and his heart-rate had returned to normal, he ever so slowly released his grip.

For a few moments, his hands hovered just above the wood, waiting, testing the way the broom was hovering, guided only by his knees. When he felt comfortable enough with it, he lifted his hands higher and sat up straighter.

Thankfully, there hadn’t been much wind that morning and what there had been was light, barely enough to cause the broom to sway about. The unexpected jerk that he’d just experienced had actually been the very first gust of stronger wind that he’d felt.

Which was all to the good. It seemed that he’d picked the perfect morning for this particular activity.

Since he’d arrived at Hogwarts, he’d hardly taken the time to fly his Nimbus, something that he was currently regretting. Being up here, in the peace and calm, was incredibly relaxing. There was no one about to bother him; he could simply fly about without a care in the world. He suspected that Hedwig would have joined him if she hadn’t been off delivering a letter, which would have been a bonus – she was another that he hadn’t spent as much time with as he should have recently.

Not that he was actually flying about at the moment. _That_ would actually defeat the purpose of his morning flight. No, what Harry was doing was floating high above Hogwarts, positioned slightly to the west of the castle where he could see not only the magnificent school, but also a large chunk of its grounds, including the lake and the Forbidden Forest. And stuck to his broom with a conveniently named ‘sticking charm’ was a board with a sheet of paper on top of it.

Currently, the sketch that he was working on of the Hogwarts campus was mostly done. There were one or two areas that he wanted to touch up, like the Astronomy Tower, the Clock Tower and Ravenclaw Tower, but he was more focussed on capturing notes on the colours that the rising sun were shining upon the scene.

Knowing that there was a high possibility that he had less than two months left of his time here, Harry wanted something to remember Hogwarts by and he thought that a painting would be perfect. But painting from this high in the air was impossible, thus, the sketch that he was doing in preparation for the upcoming painting.

Really, when Harry thought about it, the fact that he’d come to the realisation that he didn’t have to stay here and become a full-time student next year had released a fair amount of tension. Not that he was positive exactly what was going to happen.

Yes, he’d sent off a letter to Romania, but that had been to ask about the _possibility_ of getting an education there in addition to his consulting job with the dragons. There was, however, no guarantee that they’d say ‘yes’, regardless of what he’d indicated to Sirius. The good thing was that they weren’t the only dragon reserve in the world who’d offered him a job. And, if none of them were willing for him to gain his education alongside a job with them, then there were always other magical schools or even tutors.

The thought of tutors had Harry quickly checking the time. He had Potions with Madam Walker that morning and it wouldn’t do to be late. While he’d learnt an amazing amount with her, she was a stickler for details and that included punctuality.

Deciding that it was better to be safe than sorry, Harry stuffed his pencil into his pocket, gripped his Nimbus properly and angled his body downwards and accelerated away.


	27. Counter-Proposal

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:10am_

_Wednesday, 22 March 1995_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

The post owls had already come, delivered their letters and parcels and departed and the Hall had descended back into its regular everyday conversations at the four House tables and even the Staff table when a final, weary owl appeared through the special post owl window hidden high in the rafters of the Great Hall.

This owl, a beautiful snowy white owl, hadn’t been seen at Hogwarts for quite a few weeks now. She banked slowly over the tables before spotting the dark messy head of the boy that she was looking for. Then, with one final turn and a great flaring of her wings, she came to rest on the table in front of her master.

“Hedwig!” Harry exclaimed.

With a slight tremble in her body, Hedwig straightened up and lifted one leg. Instantly, Harry’s hands were there, untying the letter that she’d brought.

“You’re exhausted, girl,” Harry stated, discarding the envelope to stroke her feathers.

Hedwig leaned in appreciatively to his touch and even rubbed her head against his hand. Shifting his goblet closer to the owl, Harry refilled it with water before motioning towards it.

“Drink up, Hedwig, you’ve earned it,” he said. “And eat as much as you want.”

Hedwig hooted softly before plunging her beak into the goblet. Once she’d had her fill, she turned her attention to the sausage and bacon that Harry was piling onto the plate for her.

“She looks done in,” Daphne commented from beside Harry.

Harry spared her a quick look before returning to stroking Hedwig.

“Yeah, she’s had a long flight,” he replied.

“Where’s she been?” Daphne asked.

Harry noticed the curiosity in her blue eyes as she flicked her attention between Harry, Hedwig and the letter laying on the table between them. Suddenly, she let out a gasp, a gasp that drew the attention of those around them at the Slytherin House table.

Harry followed her eyes to the envelope and his eyes widened as he realised what had caught her attention. In his haste to discard the envelope and to check on Hedwig, he hadn’t paid any care as to how he’d cast the envelope aside. It had, in fact, come to rest upside down with the seal facing up for all to see – a seal in the shape of a stylized dragon’s claw with a stylized ‘R’ in the middle of it.

“That’s from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary!” Daphne stated. “What are they writing to you for?”

Harry darted his eyes around the table. Daphne’s statement had only increased the interest that her initial gasp had created.

“That’s where Ramaranth is,” Harry replied, thinking quickly on his feet. “I’m sure that they’re just letting me know how she’s doing.”

Daphne, though, seemed to see straight through his lie.

“Then why didn’t they use their own owl to send you a letter?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed then and she fixed her shining cerulean eyes onto his emerald’s. “You wrote to them first! Why?”

Harry knew that this day was coming. In truth, he’d been trying to gather the words and the courage to have this conversation, not only with Daphne, but with all of his Hogwarts’ friends, for weeks now. Unfortunately, it’d never come. Either the timing had been off or he’d simply chickened out. In any case, it seemed that he couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Not here, Daph,” he hissed.

Daphne’s eyes narrowed even further at him before she abruptly stood and dragged Harry up with her. Reaching down, she plucked up his letter and deposited it into one of the pockets of her robe.

“Hedwig looks exhausted, Harry. I really think that you should carry her to the Owlery,” she stated.

Harry could only nod; refusing, he knew, was _not_ an option. And at least there, they’d be alone and he could finally explain things to her. He just hoped that she wouldn’t pitch him out of the nearest window after he’d told her what he’d decided to do.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:40am_

_Wednesday, 22 March 1995_

_The Owlery, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Right, Potter. Talk!”

Daphne had only given Harry enough time to ensure that Hedwig was resting comfortably on the closest perch before she’d grabbed his arm and swung him around. Now she stood there, her arms crossed, one foot tapping, a hard, expectant look on her face. It was all Harry could do not to shy away and to attempt to find the closest cover to hide behind.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, trying to buy himself time.

“You know what I want, Potter,” she shot back. “There’s no-one here and no-one can overhear us. So, start talking. _Why_ are you writing to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary?”

Harry sighed and opened his mouth to reply, but Daphne, apparently, didn’t trust him not to lie.

“Just talk to me, Harry,” she said, her face softening minutely. “The way you acted in the Great Hall made it blatantly obvious that it wasn’t about that Hungarian Horntail.”

“Actually, Daphne, it was. In a way,” Harry replied and he knew exactly how to begin telling her what he’d been putting off for so long.

She cocked her head at him and gestured for him to get on with it.

“Do you remember what it was like for me after the First Task? The way everyone here and in Britain reacted to finding out that I could speak parseltongue?” he asked.

“I remember,” she grimaced.

“I was still getting nasty letters and howlers for a week after it,” Harry stated. “Everyone was accusing me of being the next Dark Lord.”

“Not everyone, Harry,” Daphne reminded him. “Susan, Granger, Longbottom and I didn’t and don’t think that. And there are a number of others in the dungeons who don’t feel that way either, not that they’ll come right out and say so.”

“You’re right, Daph, you and the others have always had my back and never thought anything bad about me because I can speak a different language,” Harry agreed. “And there were a few others that were _very_ interested in my abilities and how useful they could be.”

A dawning look of comprehension appeared on Daphne’s face. Slowly she reached into her pocket and pulled out Harry’s letter.

“The dragon reserves,” she whispered, clearly remembering back those nearly four months. “They all offered you jobs.”

Harry nodded. “They did.”

“But that’s for after you finish your education, Harry, isn’t it? It’s not for now,” she half stated and half questioned.

“Yes?” Harry replied, but the quaver in his voice obviously told Daphne all that she needed to know.

Her head dropped and she stared hard at the envelope in her hands that she was slowly turning over and over.

“You asked them if you could work there and finish your education at the same time, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

Her eyes darted up and Harry noticed that they seemed brighter, almost as though they were glistening.

“Why, Harry? I thought that you liked it here. That you were fitting in and finding your place in the magical world, in the castle,” she said.

“In a way, yes, I am,” Harry replied, “but in a whole bunch of other ways, I’m not.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You know what it’s been like just between the two of us, Daph,” Harry said, trying ever so hard to resist the temptation to start pacing. “It’s taken us a lot of work to understand the different cultures that we come from. Remember the fiasco of the Yule Ball?”

When she nodded, he continued.

“Your opinion was the only one that mattered to me that night, and you know how you reacted, what you thought. And that was mirrored in the reaction of the rest of Hogwarts as well. Not to mention the articles that came out in the paper. I’ve been ‘back’ in the magical world for nearly five months and how many articles have been written about me and my weird _muggle_ way of doing things and how improper and disgusting they are?”

“Too many,” Daphne replied quietly.

“But it’s not just that, Daph,” Harry continued. “I just don’t get the magical world. Everyone’s told me that this is the best magical school in the world and the safest one to boot. But do you remember the stories you and the others told me about what it’s been like here just during the time that you’ve been a student? Dead professors; students that disappear never to be seen or heard from again; giant ruddy snakes roaming the halls that can kill you with one look; soul-sucking demons …”

“Alright, Harry, I get it,” Daphne said, almost harshly.

But Harry wasn’t done. “And now there’s this ruddy TriWizard Tournament where unsuspecting people _who aren’t even in the castle when the Champions are picked_ can get roped into them. I could have overlooked a lot of that. Really, I could have. But when they put you and Hermione and the others at the _bottom of a lake_ without even asking any of you or your parents if that was okay and the Headmaster gets away with it because there are laws saying that he can?”

Here Harry had to simply shake his head.

“It was just too much, Daphne. Way too much. I just can’t see myself staying at Hogwarts if things are like that,” he finished.

“But what about us? Susan, Hermione, Neville? What about me?” Daphne asked. “I thought that we were your friends!”

Harry rapidly stepped forward, capturing both of her hands in his, the envelope crushed between them.

“You are! You are. You’re the first real friends that I’ve ever had,” Harry told her.

“Then why do you want to leave us?” Daphne near-wailed.

“I don’t,” Harry replied quickly. “Honestly, I don’t. This was one of the hardest decisions that I’ve ever made. It’s just … it’s just that I don’t feel safe here. And as great as you four are, you don’t mitigate the bad.”

“And this was your ticket out,” Daphne sighed, raising their hands, so that the envelope was more prominent.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “But it’s only a chance. I don’t know if they’ve agreed yet.”

Daphne looked back down at the envelope and forced a small smile for him. “Then let’s find out.”

Harry took the envelope and pulled Daphne around so that she was standing beside him where she could read the letter at the same time. With shaky hands, he cracked the seal and pulled out the thick pieces of parchment before unfolding them.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_Thank you for your letter to us._

_Your idea of continuing your education to completion whilst an employee of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary was most unexpected as we did not expect that you would be willing to work in a dragon reserve until after your education was complete to the NEWT level._

_While we have never employed a witch or wizard at the Sanctuary requiring to be simultaneously educated (with the exception of those undertaking their Mastery of Magical Creatures), your unique skills mean that we are willing to forgo our usual practices. Having a parselmouth on staff will be an enormous benefit to our work not just here, but around the world._

_Unfortunately, we are ill equipped to handle the educating of an unqualified wizard by ourselves. Knowing this, and also being aware that your employment is being sought by every Dragon Reserve around the world, I have contacted my counterparts and we have come up with a counter-offer for your consideration._

_If you accept employment with us, your education in each of the subjects that you asked about will be completed through the use of tutors to the NEWT level. In addition, you will be required to have language lessons in Romanian, Swahili, Mongolian and Spanish, the primary languages of each of the dragon reserves of the world._

_You will be given a small stipend of fifty galleons per month plus accommodation, meals, travel expenses and, of course, your education._

_In return, you will be an on-call consultant that any of the five Dragon Reserves of the world can call upon whenever there is a problem or potential problem with any of their dragons, or with any of the dragons that can still be found in the wild. You will be required to live at each of the Dragon Reserves on a rotating month by month basis._

_This contract will remain in effect for the duration of your education up until you have achieved your NEWTS, plus an additional one year of employment with us. If you wish to pursue your Mastery of Magical Creatures, we would, of course, be more than willing to accommodate this._

_We hope that this compromise is agreeable to you. We cannot state enough the benefits that we can see having someone of your skillset as an on-call consultant for the Dragon Reserves of the World and how much we eagerly hope that you agree to our terms._

_We await your owl with your decision._

_Alexander Vellios Head Dragon Handler of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary_  
  


_on behalf of: The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary; The Australasian Dragon Preserve; The Aztec Reserve for Dragons; The Draconian Sanctuary of Tanzania; The Mongolian Dragon Park_

Harry read the letter through once, blinked hard and had to go back and read it again.

“Wow, Harry! Is that what you were expecting?” Daphne asked.

Harry shook his head, his eyes still glued to the parchment.

“All I asked about was whether I could continue my education if I came and worked for them now,” he explained.

“ _That_ ,” Daphne said, tapping the parchment in Harry’s hand, “is a _lot_ more than just ‘learning while working’.”

“I know,” Harry replied. “They’re offering me work with all of the tutors that I need all the way up to my NEWTs and beyond.”

“Plus an extra year,” Daphne added. “That’s a long time, Harry.”

Harry looked up at her. “What? Six years? Seven?”

“Seven at the very outside, more likely only five or six,” Daphne replied. “They want a minimum of one extra year after you finish your NEWTs, which usually takes seven years, but after your year here, you’ll be already through your first year and a bit into your second year with the way you’ve been picking things up.”

“That’s a long time to be locked into a contract,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes, but think of what you’ll learn. Plus, all of the travelling that you’ll get to do,” Daphne replied. “And I’d bet you anything that you won’t be limited to just the reserves. You’ll end up going wherever there are dragons in the wild as well.”

Harry looked at her interestedly. Now that she mentioned it, he remembered reading that there were still pockets in the world where wild dragons roamed, for example in Wales, where there were some Common Welsh Greens, one of the smaller species of dragons.

“GAAAHH!” Daphne suddenly cried, throwing her hands in the air. “What am I doing? I’m _not_ supposed to be trying to talk you into this! I don’t want you to go. If you do, it could be years before we see each other again, if ever.”

Harry laid what he hoped was a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, calm down, Daphne. I only just got this. I haven’t decided to go anywhere just yet. All this is,” he said, emphasising his point by waving the parchment in the air, “is an option.”

She looked up at him then and Harry saw something in her cerulean eyes that he couldn’t quite identify.

“An option,” she repeated.

“An option,” Harry said. “I’ve told you why I don’t want to come here and even explained why I don’t really like the magical world all that much. _This_ is one way for me to keep learning magic while doing something interesting, something that no one else could do. But what it doesn’t do is allow any leeway for me to continue my normal education as well and that’s something that I’d still like to do.”

“Really?” Daphne asked, sounding interested. “Why would you want to do that?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “As much as I love learning magic, I’ve spent way too long in the non-magical world to give it up. And if I work at it, it shouldn’t take me too long to get my A-levels which will mean that, if I wanted to, I could go to university.”

“University?” Daphne echoed, wrinkling her nose. “I guess that’s similar to a Mastery or an apprenticeship?”

Harry shrugged, unsure. “I guess. Sounds about right.”

“Does that mean that you intend on leaving the magical world behind some day?” Daphne asked tentatively.

“Good Lord, no!” Harry exclaimed. “I love magic. And the goblins tell me that I’ve got a fair portfolio that I need to manage. Not to mention that there’s no dragons in the non-magical world, at least, not outside of fantasy books. No, I’m not going to be leaving the magical world. I want to continue my magical education as well. Whether that means I take up this offer or find another magical school or even hire tutors, I’ll continue until I get my OWLs and my NEWTs. Maybe I’ll even try for a Mastery of some kind. Really, I’m going to be studying and learning for years to come, when you add the magical and non-magical together. I’ve just got to work out the best way of handling it all.”

“That’s good, Harry. I’m glad that you’re not going to abandon your heritage,” Daphne said.

Harry smiled at her.

“Besides, there’s still a lot more in the magical world that I want to paint, not to mention the fact that I want to learn more about runes and combine it with my woodworking skills.”

Daphne sagged back against the wall and nodded at the parchment in his hand. “So what are you going to do about that?”

“For now, nothing,” Harry replied. “I’ll think about it and get some other opinions, and also find out more about my other options. When it comes down to it, there’s no rush; it’s not like I can leave here until after the Third Task of this bloody Tournament is over anyway.”


	28. Desiring Harry Potter

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_2:35pm_

_Thursday, 30 March 1995_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore lazed back in his chair, his right hand running continuously through his long white beard from the bottom of the ring sitting on his chest that kept his beard in place, down to the very bottom of the thick, coarse hair.

His chair was currently turned away from his desk allowing its occupant to see the impressive view that was awarded to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. From here, large swathes of the grounds could be seen, including a portion of the Black Lake. Currently, the giant squid was lazing about, using its many tentacles to propel itself in a bizarre imitation of backstroke.

Further afield lay the Forbidden Forest, the dense treetops preventing any from seeing any of the secrets that it held. And beyond it, if one cared to look carefully enough, half a dozen roofs could be seen, the only indication of the peaceful village of Hogsmeade.

But even though Albus was facing in that direction, he saw none of it. Instead, he was contemplating the school year that was quickly slipping by.

This had definitely been a year to remember. It had been many, many long years since Hogwarts had played host to foreign students, indeed, it was long before Albus’ time at the castle. The students and staff of Beauxbatons Academie of Magic and Durmstrang Institute had, outwardly, turned their noses up at the ancient castle. But Albus had seen their true thoughts and feelings: they were impressed. And really, how could they not be?

The revival of the TriWizard Tournament had not originally been Albus’ idea, but as soon as he’d heard it, he’d jumped on the hippogryph. It was exactly what a great leader of the wizarding world needed to guide the magical world towards peace, harmony and better friendships. Sure, the Tournament had originally been discarded due to the high injury and mortality rate, but with the correct safeguards in place, those risks were reduced to insignificance.

And not only had international relations been fostered, but the TriWizard Tournament had succeeded in returning a lost child to the magical world.

Harry Potter.

Just thinking of the boy brought mixed emotions to the ancient wizard. On the one hand, having The-Boy-Who-Lived returned to the magical world brought immense satisfaction.

There had been much speculation when he had failed to turn up at Hogwarts four years ago. One of the common questions at the time was even if the boy was still alive. And when Albus had answered that question, stating that the boy was healthy and happy with his muggle relatives, the public had turned to outrage at the fact that young Harry had been kept away from them. There was much public grumbling about the fact that their own laws kept the young hero away from his adoring public.

And now that he was here at Hogwarts and Albus could see the young man that the child of his old friends had grown into, Albus was immensely pleased and proud. The boy saw no division within his peers, treating each and every one exactly the same. And while the fact that young Harry had yet to take his place at Hogwarts and be sorted into one of the illustrious Houses, he had helped to cross the divide between Houses and even encouraged others to do the same.

But of late, the largest emotion that Albus had been feeling towards the boy was frustration. Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived; he was the hero of the wizarding world and he had yet to even begin to face his true destiny, a destiny he seemed reluctant to face. At each of the Tournament Tasks so far, young Harry had gone out of his way to do the bare minimum required in order to retain his magic. Even placing the one who had obviously become his dearest friend at Hogwarts at the bottom of the Black Lake had done little to motivate him.

And it wasn’t just the fact that Harry’s magical education was lacking. Indeed, from all that Albus had heard, he was progressing remarkably quickly.

Knowing what he did, Albus knew that he had a decision to make: would it be better to tell Harry about what was facing him in the future? Perhaps if he did, the boy could be motivated to work towards the fulfilment of his destiny. Of course, even if he decided to tell _some_ of what Albus knew or suspected, the question then became, exactly how much should he tell him?

Thankfully, there was still the Third Task to come and Albus had a few tricks already up his sleeve to nudge the boy towards the direction that he wanted him to take. After that, yes, after that, a decision could be made.

“Albus? Have you heard the news?”

Coming back to the present with a start, Albus spun his chair around and searched the portraits of past Headmasters lining the walls for the one that had spoken. The eager look in Gladys Fillimeister’s face alerted him to the fact that it was she who had called to him.

Gladys was one of Albus’ most treasured informants on the pulse of the school. She was forever flitting from one portrait to another throughout the school, gossiping continuously with the inhabitants and finding out what the students thought, said and did. Of course, as with all gossips, it often took a bit of careful filtering to get to the truth, but it was a pastime that Albus enjoyed.

“What news would that be, Gladys?” Albus asked.

“The news about the Potter boy,” Gladys replied eagerly.

A momentary frown crossed Albus’ face before he schooled his features into a semblance of interest.

“No. No, I can’t say that I’ve heard the latest about young Harry,” he said.

“Well, it seems that the boy has been offered a job with the dragon preserves!” Gladys exclaimed.

“Really?” Albus replied. “Which dragon preserve would this be?”

“All of them!” she replied.

“All of them?” Albus repeated incredulously.

“Indeed,” Gladys confirmed, nodding her head. “From what I heard, they’ve banded together to offer him a job travelling between them, using his parseltongue skills.”

“I must say that I find that hard to believe, Gladys. Harry is still some years away from even taking his OWLs and I cannot imagine the dragon reserves being interested in an untrained boy, regardless of his language skills,” Albus commented.

“But that’s the thing, Albus,” Gladys replied. “They’re offering him tutors to finish his education while on the job!”

Albus nodded his head and his hand once more moved to begin stroking his beard.

“Have you heard what Harry’s response is?” he asked.

“From what Glinda told me, it seems that he’s interested. Very interested, apparently, according to his friends,” Gladys replied.

“But he hasn’t signed anything yet?” Albus asked, leaning forward.

“Not yet. It seems he’s still in negotiations,” Gladys replied. “But he’d be a fool to refuse. How often does an offer like this come up? I know how much you’ve been looking forward to the Potter boy being here, but I can’t see him staying.”

“Thank you, Gladys. If you hear anything else be sure to let me know straight away,” Albus replied, dismissing his predecessor.

Once more, Albus spun his chair around to stare out the window at the grounds of Hogwarts, deep in thought.

If Harry accepted that offer, he could be lost to wizarding Britain for years. And Albus was positive that he’d be needed before too long. So far, Tom had been biding his time, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before help came to what was left of his old student and the consequences of that were too disastrous to contemplate.

And while it was all well and good for young Harry to have some adventures in order for him to learn the lessons and temperament that he’d need, going off by himself away from the controlled environment of Hogwarts was unthinkable. If the boy wanted adventure, that was fine, but Albus knew that Hogwarts offered all the adventure and training that he needed, especially with him to guide him along the way.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:20pm (local time)_

_Tuesday, 11 April 1995_

_Office of the Head Dragon Handler, Romanian Dragon Sanctuary_

.

“You wanted to see me, Boss?” Charlie Weasley asked, sticking his head in the open door.

“Weasley, yes,” Alexander Vellios, the Head Dragon Handler of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary replied.

At his wave, Charlie crossed the cluttered room and took a seat.

There was actually only one seat available to him. The other, like the extra table that ran the length of the room and the wall above it, were littered with all manner of dragon related things. There were maps of the Sanctuary; folders galore about each and every dragon at the Sanctuary with pieces of parchment hanging from them; reports detailing how much food the dragons were eating; sketches of habitats; not to mention half a dozen dragon teeth and pieces of dragon egg shell scattered throughout it all.

“I got a letter from that Potter kid you recommended,” Alexander began.

He was never one to beat about the bush, indeed, his brusque manner had nearly had him fired more times than anyone knew. But when your job was dealing with beasts twenty to a hundred times your size and weight, being decisive helped you keep your limbs, not to mention your life. And Alexander wasn’t the Head Handler for nothing.

“Did Harry accept?” Charlie asked eagerly.

Alexander grunted. “Not yet. Wants to negotiate a few points, don’t he?”

Charlie’s eyes flicked to the letter that he could see on the desk between Alexander’s meaty arms.

“I can’t imagine Harry wanting anything outrageous,” Charlie stated. “He seemed a pretty easy-going sort of guy when I met him.”

Again, Alexander grunted.

“As’n you know the kid, I thought I’d get your thoughts on what he’s askin’ for,” Alexander stated.

“I only met him a couple of times,” Charlie reminded his boss.

“Yeah, but you’ve got a bunch of brothers that go to school with him, so you’re likely to have the best inside track,” Alexander replied.

Charlie nodded. There was no denying that. Not to mention the fact that he was British and there were only three British Handlers at the Sanctuary.

“What’s Harry wanting to negotiate?” Charlie asked.

“Firstly, he only wants to be bound in contract until his OWLs, instead of a year past his NEWTs like we were offering,” Alexander began, picking up the letter and skimming it. “Although, he says that he’d be willing to renegotiate after that if both he and the Reserves are interested in him staying on.”

Charlie nodded. “I can see his point. That’d still lock him in for three or four years and I’m sure that we could give him a good enough experience to get him to resign.”

Alexander didn’t reply to that, instead, listing off the next point.

“It also says here that he wants some time to complete his A-levels by correspondence, although he’s willing to pay for that part of his education himself.” Alexander looked up at the British-born wizard then. “What in the bleeding hell are ‘A-levels’?”

It took Charlie a couple of seconds to remember where he’d heard that term before.

“I think that it’s something to do with the British muggle education system,” Charlie hedged. “I can kinda remember my dad – he heads the Muggle Artefacts Department with the British Ministry – mentioning something about them once.”

Once again Alexander grunted.

“The rest are the usual stuff – pay, time off, that sort of thing,” Alexander said. “But what I want to know is: is the boy worth it? All of the Reserves are going to be spending an awful lot of gold on him, what with his education and portkeys all over the world and what-not. And none of the Reserves have a lot of gold to spare. Yes, we could justify it for a seven-year minimum signing, but for only four or so?”

“Look, Boss, I think Harry’s worth it,” Charlie stated. “I’ve told you what the dragons were like when he was with him – the four of them were clamouring to get his attention and we had to have him come down to the pens twice so that he could settle arguments. Not to mention the way that Harry was able to settle the Chinese Fireball down after most of her eggs were destroyed in the First Task. And that’s after what he did in his own Task of the TriWiz. Getting Ramaranth to _give_ him the egg from her nest when it took everything the other Champions had just to get past them? That’s the kind of person we need.

“Besides, when was the last time any of the Reserves had a parselmouth working for them? You know as well as I do how rare they are and the Australian and Indian Ministries tend to snap them up to take care of their snake problems. If we can get him now and introduce him to the dragons of the world, I bet we’ll have him for life.”

Alexander sat back in his chair, his dark brown eyes narrowed as he contemplated Charlie’s speech. It was all that Charlie could do to hold still under such scrutiny. Finally, after what felt like hours, Alexander gave a sharp nod and sat forward once more.

“Perhaps I need to meet the boy and get a measure of him myself,” he stated. “And if he seems worth it, then I’ll agree to renegotiate with him.”

“The Third Task of the TriWiz is at the end of next month. If you go then, you could see Harry in action,” Charlie suggested.

“Not a bad idea, Weasley,” Alexander stated. “I might just do that.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:45am_

_Saturday, 16 April 1995_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Albus waited the right length of time and then, just before he knew that the knock was about to come, he called out.

“Come in, Harry!”

The door to the office opened and a confused-looking Harry Potter entered. It always amused Albus when he saw that expression on his visitors’ faces. And it didn’t hurt that it enhanced his reputation as being a powerful wizard who always knew exactly what was going on.

As Harry crossed the room, Albus once again had to force himself not to sigh at the deep green cloak over the stone grey pants and shirt that Harry was wearing. The boy should be wearing the black of Hogwarts, preferably with the red and gold accents of Gryffindor House. Hopefully that would still happen. This meeting should give him some indication of how much work he needed to do to ensure that it did.

“How are you, my boy?” Albus asked as Harry sat in front of his desk. “Lemon drop?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Headmaster,” Harry replied while holding up one hand in refusal of the offered bowl.

“You seem to have settled in well here at Hogwarts,” Albus commented.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry replied. “I’ve definitely made some good friends.”

“Ah, yes, there is nothing more satisfying than making, and being with, one’s friends,” Albus replied, his blue eyes twinkling with his smile.

Harry only smiled and Albus knew that he was wondering why he’d been asked to come here today.

“As the year is rapidly drawing to close,” Albus began, “I thought that it would be prudent to discuss with you how your education has been coming this year. I have here a report from almost all of your teachers outlining your progress so far.”

At that, Harry sat forward on his chair, eagerness apparent in every line of his body.

“By all reports, you have definitely taken to learning magic like a niffler to gold,” Albus commented.

“I’ve really been enjoying it,” Harry smiled. “And the teachers have been great; not to mention the help that Daphne, Neville, Hermione and Susan have given me.”

“Yes, those four are wonderful students, each as bright as the other at the subjects that they have excelled in,” Albus commented. “Well, shall we go through them?”

At Harry’s eager nod, he continued.

“Let’s see, first up is Charms. Professor Flitwick has written quite a glowing report about your abilities, particularly at the fact that you’ve been learning a lot of your spells wandlessly as well as with the use of a wand. He estimates that by the end of this school year, your knowledge and ability in Charms will be approximately halfway through the second year curriculum.”

“Charms has to be one of my favourite subjects,” Harry stated. “And Professor Flitwick is great.”

“Next is Transfiguration,” Albus said, laying aside one piece of parchment to pick up the next on the small stack in front of him. “Professor McGonagall is quite pleased with your progress, which, between you and me, is high praise indeed, and estimates that you are at a similar level to Charms.”

He waited until Harry had nodded in acknowledgment before proceeding to the next report.

“Professor Sprout has indicated that your Herbology knowledge is surprisingly advanced at times.”

“I think that’s got a lot to do with Neville,” Harry admitted. “There doesn’t seem to be anything that he doesn’t know when it comes to plants.”

Albus smiled at Harry’s confession. “In any case, Mister Longbottom’s knowledge is to your gain. Between what he has passed on to you and your work with Professor Sprout, you are already close to halfway through the second year curriculum with a month of the school year still to go.

“Your Defence Against the Dark Arts progress is also very pleasing. Professor Moody has declared you as ‘adequate’ – another of those rather ambiguous statements that is, in actual fact, high praise – and insists that he’ll have you into the second year curriculum by the end of the school year.”

Albus lay that piece of parchment aside before placing the next two side by side.

“Unfortunately, you are not as advanced in either Astronomy or History of Magic,” he said, before raising one hand. “Please don’t get me wrong, you are still progressing wonderfully. However, by the end of the school year, you will most likely only be just finishing the first year curriculum.”

Harry shrugged at that piece of information. “They’re not my favourite subjects.”

Albus nodded in understanding. “In terms of your progress in Potions, I am not sure exactly where you would sit in regards to a Hogwarts education. As you have hired a private tutor in lieu of Professor Snape, I was not able to get a complete report on your progress.”

“That’s alright,” Harry replied. “Madam Walker says that she’s pleased with my progress and that I’m even exceeding some of her expectations.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Albus stated diplomatically. “We now come to your elective subjects. As you’ll recall, these subjects are not offered at Hogwarts until third year, so when you began your education in these subjects, you were only a little more than a year behind your peers.”

At Harry’s nod, Albus laid out three pieces of parchment side by side.

“By the looks of these, if you continue at the pace that you have been working at, there is a strong possibility that you will be ready to take your Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures OWL at the end of next year, which is the same time as your peers.”

“Hermione says that I’ll be able to take the Muggle Studies OWL then, too,” Harry said.

“I was not aware that you were studying that subject as well, Harry?” Albus stated, looking at the boy over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“Yeah, well, Hermione says that, as I’m non-magically raised, I’d be able to take that OWL now,” Harry replied. “The only thing is to make sure that I’ve read the book through once or twice to make sure that I understand how magical people see non-magical people and the world that they live in.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Albus stated, “and the fact that you will be taking your various OWLs at differing times will be a bonus in this case – much fewer subjects to have to focus on at any one time.

“Now, in regards to your OWLs, I have taken the liberty of talking with your various professors – with the exception of Madam Walker, of course – about when you might be ready to take your tests.”

Harry sat up a little straighter, then and Albus knew that he had a rapt audience.

“As I have already mentioned, Professors Babbling, Vector and Grubbly-Plank are all of the opinion that you will have no problems being ready for the OWLs for their respective subjects at the end of next year.”

“Along with Muggle Studies,” Harry added.

“Indeed, Harry, along with Muggle Studies,” Albus smiled. “If you are willing to do some extra work during each of the holidays for the next couple of years, then it seems reasonable to think that you will be ready for your Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology OWLs the following year; and your Astronomy and History of Magic OWLs the year after that.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Harry commented.

“Quite remarkable, in fact,” Albus countered. “To have completed eleven subjects to Ordinary Wizarding Levels in only four years is simply astounding and a testament to the amazing young man that you are.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry replied, ducking his head.

“Hogwarts will be very fortunate indeed when you join her as a student next year,” Albus said.

“Hmm,” Harry replied noncommittedly.

“Do you have any questions about your education thus far, Harry?” Albus asked.

“No, Sir,” he replied.

“In that case, I won’t keep you. There is still much of this fine spring day for you to enjoy,” Albus smiled.

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry replied, rising from his chair.

Albus watched him walk from the room, closing the door behind him before he allowed himself to lean forward onto his elbows.

_That_ meeting was not as promising as he would have hoped.

Albus had asked the right questions to get Harry thinking about his friends and his future education at Hogwarts and that was enough for him to do a light legilimacy probe. And nothing of what he saw was good. It seemed that young Harry was focussed on the offer that Gladys had originally told him about. Not even Harry’s strong feelings towards one particular friend seemed as though it would be enough to keep him here at Hogwarts, let alone in Britain.

Albus, though, refused to despair or to give in. There was a still time. No contracts had been signed yet, allowing him the opportunity to change Harry’s mind and bring him back onto the course that he needed to tread. It was simply a matter of finding the right way forward from here.


	29. Running Into Some Hurdles

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_Sunday, 24 April 1995_

_Front Page Article of_ The Daily Prophet

.

_Boy-Who-Lived to Abandon Britain? by Rita Skeeter_

_The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, has always been an enigma to the magical world. After the events of October thirty-one, nineteen eighty-one, Harry Potter was hidden away from us, deposited somewhere in the muggle world, apparently “for his safety”._

_We all expected him to return to us nearly four years ago to begin his magical education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but due to the very muggles who he was placed with, this did not happen. Instead, Harry Potter was left alone and abandoned by our government to fend for himself in the muggle world._

_Finally, though, due to an irregularity with the Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter returned to the wizarding world to compete in the TriWizard Tournament as the Fourth Champion. Every piece of news since that day last November has indicated that The-Boy-Who-Lived has been living up to the expectations that we hold him to, advancing quickly through his studies and making a great number of friends._

_Harry Potter’s performance in the TriWizard Tournament, though, has been unconventional, to say the least._

_He completed the First Task, a task that involved retrieving a golden egg from the nest of a female horntail dragon, by demonstrating that he speaks parseltongue, a skill that is usually the mark of a dark wizard (see page 5 for a recap of Harry Potter’s performance in the First Task). And in order to complete the Second Task, Harry Potter paid a merman to retrieve his hostage for him (see page 6)._

_And now, as the Third Task of the TriWizard Tournament approaches, this reporter has uncovered the startling fact that Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, is set on abandoning Britain at the completion of the Tournament._

_Where is he going? What about his education? What is he planning to do? These are all good questions that I know that you are all asking._

_The answer, dear readers, is that Harry Potter is seriously considering going to a dragon reserve to learn to be a dragon handler!_

_It seems that the very skill that we find the most questionable about The-Boy-Who-Lived, the fact that he can speak parseltongue, is exactly what has caught the attention of the dragon handlers of the world. They’ve offered young Harry a contract that includes him completing his education while travelling around the world to work with dragons!_

_As far as this reporter is aware, no contracts have yet been signed, so there’s still a chance, however small that may be, that The-Boy-Who-Lived may decide to complete his education at Hogwarts. I urge you readers to do all you can to encourage young Harry to stay where he belongs, within the magical community here in Britain, now that he’s returned. To lose our icon after so recently having him returned to us would truly be a tragedy._

_Be assured that I will keep you up to date on any decision that the Boy-Who-Lived makes in regards to his future._

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:15am_

_Sunday, 24 April 1995_

_Office of the Minister for Magic, London_

.

“Is it true?” Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, snapped, slapping his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ down on the table between his two subordinates.

Ludo Bagman leaned forward to find out what the Minister was referring to. His counterpart, Bartemius Crouch, on the other hand, didn’t so much as flinch; it was obvious that he’d already seen the article in question and had been anticipating this very question.

“From what I was able to infer from Dumbledore’s waffling, yes,” Bartemius replied.

“You’ve spoken to Dumbledore already?” Cornelius asked, sitting back marginally in his seat.

“Not more than half an hour ago,” Bartemius confirmed.

“And Dumbledore says that it’s true, that Harry Potter is intent on leaving Britain for a dragon reserve of all things?” Cornelius asked.

“It seems that an offer has been made, but no contract has yet been signed. Dumbledore believes that it will not be signed either,” Bartemius stated.

“He doesn’t?” Cornelius asked hopefully. “Is he sure about that?”

Bartemius lifted his eyes upwards, a small frown appearing on his face. “He inferred as much, but when I pressed him, he did not give any reason as to _why_ he believed that the contract wouldn’t be signed.”

Now it was Cornelius’ turn to frown. He’d dealt with the wily politician enough to know that whenever Dumbledore used phrases like ‘I believe’ and ‘it doesn’t appear’ and his old favourite, ‘the greater good’, he was simply speaking for the masses, without actually _saying_ anything.

“Merlin’s beard! So, it could still happen, we could still lose The-Boy-Who-Lived?” Cornelius stated. “Can Potter do that, though? What about the contract that he signed with us? Didn’t we ensure that he’d become a well-educated member of society in order to retain his wand rights?”

“Well, yes,” Ludo replied, looking up from the article, “but we never specified how or where he gained his magical education, simply that he had to complete not just his OWLs, but also his NEWTs.”

“That is how we were able to get Mister Potter to Hogwarts even though he refused to become a student there at the same time that he was a Champion. Not to mention how Mister Potter was able to hire his own teacher for potions rather than use Professor Snape who is already at Hogwarts,” Bartemius said.

“This, this cannot be allowed,” Cornelius stated, slapping the article between the three men. “Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, leave Britain. Preposterous! The public’d burn us at the stake if we allowed him to leave. No. Whatever it takes, keep the boy from signing that contract!”

Bartemius and Ludo looked at each other, each hoping that the other had some idea of how to accomplish the task that they’d just been given.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_8:30am_

_Friday, 29 April 1995_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

The sudden influx of the post owls had Harry, along with most of the others at the Hufflepuff table where he was eating his breakfast, looking up. Dozens and dozens of owls of all types, sizes and colours winged their way in through the enchanted post windows before circling the Great Hall, looking for the recipient of the letter that they had to deliver.

Seeing no less than thirty zero in on him had Harry’s head falling with a heavy _thunk_ onto the table, barely missing his bowl of porridge.

“Six days,” his muffled voice protested. “It’s been six days since that blasted article. Surely there’s something else newsworthy out there, isn’t there?”

“Sorry, Harry,” Susan said as she patted him on the shoulder, amusement clear in her voice. “But you’re The-Boy-Who-Lived. _Nothing_ is more newsworthy than that. We did tell you.”

The rattle and clatter of the dishes and cutlery being landed on, combined with the growing noise of wing flaps brought his head up. Every one of the owls was vying for attention, each one glaring at their neighbour as they tried to get Harry to take their most important letter first. With a sigh, he reached out to the closest owl and began to untie the letter from its leg.

Thankfully, Susan, Hannah and a couple of the other closest ’Puffs joined in, just as they or their counterparts at other tables had done throughout the week in an effort to clear the table of the owls as quickly as possible.

Every day that week, dozens and dozens of letters had been sent to Harry. Monday was the largest, with just shy of a hundred letters all addressed to him. And every single one was from some witch or wizard who’d read that damn article and wanted to convey their thoughts to him.

Most were very flattering, imploring him to stay in Britain, to finish his education at Hogwarts (the very best magical school in the world, he’d been assured more times than he could count), and to be the British wizarding icon that he’d always been.

And then there were those who were very glad that he’d been given the option to leave. After all, someone who could talk to _snakes_ was clearly a dark wizard and it was best to get rid of them as soon as possible. Most of this type had come in a red envelope and yelled at him for the entire Hall to hear – a most disturbing and startling experience for Harry who’d had no idea that such a thing was possible.

“No Howlers today,” Susan remarked.

“Thank Merlin,” Hannah whispered, although not quietly enough for Harry to miss.

“Hey, Harry,” Wayne Hopkins said from the other side of the table where he was collating the envelopes into a neat pile, “this one looks important; it’s from the Ministry.”

Reaching over, Susan plucked the envelope from Wayne and turned it around.

“He’s right,” she said. “It’s from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Here, best open it, it looks important.”

Using his butter knife, Harry slit the seal and pulled out the parchment inside. His eyes bulged as he read the letter and then bulged further as he read it for the second time. Then, with a shake of his head, he dropped it to the tabletop.

Seeing Susan’s eager inquisitiveness, Harry waved one hand, giving her permission to read it.

“What’s it say?” Hannah asked.

“Harry?” Susan questioned.

“Go ahead,” he sighed.

“To Mister Harry J. Potter,” Susan read aloud. “We at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures cordially invite you to attend the next meeting of the Subcommittee for the Regulation and Monitoring of the Dragons of Great Britain, to be held on Saturday, May thirteen.

“The aim of this particular meeting is to discuss the numbers and breeding habits of the Dragons of Great Britain, in particular the Welsh Green. As the number of dragons within Great Britain has been steadily rising over the last forty years, there is a renewed interest in the establishment of a large reserve where the dragons of Great Britain can live where they would have more room. It is expected that this reserve would also aid in ensuring that the numbers of dragons within Great Britain continues to rise.

“As you have demonstrated an ability to speak with dragons, we at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would value your input. It is felt that someone who could speak to the dragons and translate between the two groups – the Ministry and the dragons themselves – would be incredibly beneficial.

“At the conclusion of the subcommittee meeting, we invite you to a private meeting with the Director the Department where we can discuss future job prospects with you.

“Looking forward to you owl,

“Gemma Caldwell

“Secretary for the Subcommittee for the Regulation and Monitoring of the Dragons of Great Britain.”

“Wow, Harry! Are you going to go?” Wayne asked.

Harry shook his head. “No. I don’t think I will.”

“Why not?” Wayne asked. “It sounds amazing!”

“Yeah, but the problem is that it’s a bribe,” Harry replied.

“A bribe? What do you mean, Harry?” Susan asked.

“You’ve all seen how many letters I’ve been getting from people that I’ve never met, most of them trying to convince me to stay here in Britain instead of taking the job with the reserves,” he said. Once those around him had nodded in acknowledgement, he continued. “Well, this is simply the Ministry’s way of doing the same thing. I don’t know whether it’s because they want their icon, their Boy-Who-Lived to stay in Britain, or whether it’s public pressure, but it amounts to the same thing. They’re trying to get me to do what they want without asking me what it is that I want.”

The nods around the table seemed very uncertain. Once again Harry sighed. He was sure that everyone here wanted him to stay in Britain as well, to become a proper Hogwarts student. The problem was, with all of this pulling from all of these directions, Harry wasn’t entirely sure exactly what it was that he wanted anymore.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_2:10pm_

_Saturday, 13 May 1995_

Subcommittee for the Regulation and Monitoring of the Dragons of Great Britain, Ministry of Magic, London

.

“Any sign of him?” Mathilda Grimblehawk, the Chair of the Subcommittee asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” her secretary replied.

“Did he send an owl at least?” Mathilda asked hopefully.

“I’m sorry, Miss Grimblehawk, we haven’t heard from Mister Potter at all. He didn’t even reply to our initial invitation.”

Mathilda grumbled to herself. She knew all that. In fact, she’d been asking the same question every day for nearly two weeks. And every day the answers were the same. The problem was that the subcommittee had been rushed into being especially for Harry Potter, but for Mathilda, she’d seen it as her golden ticket to get away from a desk and into field work a year or three earlier than she was supposed to.

Well, regardless of Harry Potter’s participation or not, she was going to act as though the subcommittee was to continue, regardless of what she knew was likely to happen.

Spinning on her heel, Mathilda strode into the board room and took her place at the head of the table.

“I call this meeting to order …”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:30pm_

_Wednesday, 24 May 1995_

_Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

What was left of the early evening sun disappeared as Harry walked between two of the great stands that ringed the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Even after he emerged, it was only into deep shadow. Looking up and around, the only part of the stadium that was able to catch the sunlight was the top half dozen rows of the stands traditionally reserved for Hufflepuff House.

The fact that Harry was looking up and around instead of where he was going meant that he promptly tripped and fell flat on his face.

From where he lay sprawled on the ground, he twisted his body to see what had caused his fall. His look of annoyance promptly changed to one of confusion as he saw the tiny bush just past his feet. That confusion quickly grew as he noticed that the bush was only one of many, all planted in a long line.

Pushing himself to his hands and knees, Harry blinked in surprise as he found himself face to face with another line of tiny bushes.

Admittedly, he hadn’t been to the quidditch pitch all that often while he’d been here at Hogwarts, but he was sure that he would have noticed if there were _plants_ growing on it.

Quickly, he rose to his feet and headed after the other Champions that he’d been behind, being careful this time to watch where he was going and to step over the dozens of lines of tiny plants.

From the scowls etched upon both Viktor and Cedric’s faces, Harry became even more positive that those plants weren’t normally on the pitch.

“Good, good, you’re all here,” Ludo Bagman said jollily as the four of them joined him in the centre of the pitch.

Cedric and Viktor stood in near identical poses, their arms crossed tightly, glares on their faces. Fleur, on the other hand, didn’t seem as fazed by the recent landscaping changes.

“Well, you’re all here to learn what’s in store for you this time next month,” Ludo continued. “June twenty-four. That’s when the Third Task will be held, right here in the Hogwarts quidditch pitch.”

When no one spoke, Ludo assumed an aggrieved expression. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. You’ll have your quidditch back after the last Task. I promise you that it’ll be back in tip top shape, better than it’s ever been and you’ll never be able to tell that it was any different.”

Slight nods from Viktor and Cedric, accompanied by a relaxing of their arms, granted the man a reprieve from their apparent anger.

“Now, I assume that you can guess what the Task is going to be having seen what we’re growing here?” Ludo asked.

“Maze,” Viktor grunted.

Harry looked around him and could instantly see that the Bulgarian was right. The tiny lines of plants criss-crossed the ground in a manner that suggested that it could only be one thing.

“That’s right,” Ludo replied. “Of course, it won’t be as easy as it looks now. Madam Sprout assures me that she’ll have the hedges a full ten feet tall by this time next month. And inside it will be dozens of challenges for you to face – enchantments; creatures of all manner; charms and, of course, a race against each other through the maze itself.”

“’Ow will ze winner be determined?” Fleur asked.

“Ah, that’s simple,” Ludo smiled. “We will be placing the TriWizard Cup in the very centre of the maze. The first one to touch it, wins. Winner takes all – the Cup, the prize money, eternal glory for yourself and your school and of course, the title of TriWizard Champion.

“To make it fair, the judges have decided that the results from the last two Tasks will count towards this one. Therefore, you will enter the maze in the order of your points. So, Mister Krum, you will go in first, with Mister Diggory here twelve seconds behind, followed by Miss Delacour forty-seven seconds behind him and finally, Mister Potter five minutes and three seconds behind Miss Delacour.”

Harry nodded. A maze. That wasn’t so bad. Easy really. Especially when he had absolutely no intention of even trying to get through it. Not to mention the fact that he had no desire whatsoever of encountering any enchantments or creatures that were deemed appropriate for someone with seven years’ worth of magical education. Even with this little amount of information, a strategy had already become evident, a strategy that would be made that much easier with the others having such a large head start.

“Well, then,” Ludo continued, rubbing his hands together, “does anyone have any questions?”

Harry simply shook his head, an action that was being echoed by each of his fellow Champions.

“In that case, you can head back to the castle and I will see you all exactly one month from now at the Third Task of the TriWizard Tournament.”


	30. Awkward Questions

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_10:20am_

_Sunday, 11 June 1995_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Harry?”

Harry’s head popped up from behind a large box-like shape on the floor of his workroom.

“Oh, hi Daphne!” he greeted.

Indeed, there was no one else it could be, really. In order to get into his workroom, one had to first gain access to his suite in the castle and you could only do that by giving the password to Sir Rogeric, the statue that guarded his door. And there was only one person that Harry’d ever given his password to.

“What are you doing down there?” she asked, having walked down the last few steps and around to find his body twisted up into odd angles and half inside the contraption on the floor.

“Working,” Harry blinked at her. He would have thought that that was obvious.

“And what is it you are working on this time?” she asked.

Harry slithered his way out of the wooden structure and stood up before answering.

“A doll house,” he said, raising his hands high to stretch his spine back into alignment.

“A doll house?” Daphne repeated.

“Yeah, you know, a little house filled with rooms and decorations and miniature furniture,” he said.

“I _know_ what a doll house is, Harry,” Daphne said, rolling her eyes. “What I meant was, why in Merlin’s name are you making a _doll house_ of all things?”

“Um, why not?” Harry replied.

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “You are going to give me a proper answer you know. We can either do this the hard way or the easy way.”

Harry grinned at her, ignoring the way her hand was edging towards her wand.

“I figured that this was something that I could do to practise my woodworking skills and especially my furniture making skills,” he finally replied. “And with magic, it won’t matter how big I make the furniture in the first place; I can always shrink it to fit. Besides, I thought that I could try my hand at a magical doll house.”

Daphne looked at him sharply. “Magical?”

“Yeah, you know, using runes and stuff,” Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like if I create a sink, I can add in the runes for water creation from the tap and a vanishing rune to the sink itself to get rid of the water after it lands in the sink. And shrinking the sink shouldn’t affect the runes at all. Should make it a bit more fun and realistic.”

“That’s … that’s actually a really good idea,” Daphne said, her eyes wide.

Noticing that her eyes had gone slightly unfocussed as they were wont to do when she was thinking hard about something, combined with the fact that she was groping blindly for the closest stool, had Harry quickly stepping forward to guide her into the right spot.

Suddenly, her sparkling blue eyes focussed and found his own.

“You could do something similar with lighting, I’m sure, and maybe even make the stairs move like they do here at Hogwarts or allow doors to open and close by themselves or …” she said, her words nearly tumbling over each other in her excited haste to get them all out.

“Wait up, Daph,” Harry laughed, “it’ll be quite a while before I’m up to that sort of thing. I’ve still got to build the house first and then I’ll need to build the furniture and do a whole lot of research into the rune patterns that’d be needed, not to mention testing it all out.”

“Well, yes, but imagine the possibilities. And it’s never too early to start planning these things,” she blushed. “The possibilities are enormous and it’d be something that every little girl would want if they found out about it.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Just you stay away from Sirius with that sort of talk. He’s already trying to market my Ancient Runes project for people to buy.”

“What’s not to love, Harry? You’ve got a real gift for creating something unique and looking at the world in a completely new way,” Daphne smiled.

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry allowed. “Just so long as the wizarding public and the Ministry don’t decide to start another letter campaign to get me to do something that’s likely to kill all the joy in doing it in the first place.”

“Did you get any letters today?” Daphne asked.

“Two; both trying to convince me to stay in Britain. That’s the lowest number in nearly three weeks, so I’m hoping that everyone’s nearly forgotten all about me and gotten on with their own lives,” Harry stated.

“You know that that’s not going to last, Harry,” Daphne said, laying a comforting hand on his arm. “Besides, with the Third Task in just under two weeks, you’ll be back in the spotlight again whether you want to be or not.”

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groaned.

“You said that you know what the Task is this time?” Daphne asked.

Harry nodded. “A maze. We just have to get through a maze.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’ll be full of enchantments and creatures and all sorts of things,” Harry clarified.

“Ah, that explains why the other three Champions have taken over the library of late – they’re probably looking up different types of enchantments and learning as much about as many magical creatures as they can. I’m surprised that you’re not doing the same,” Daphne said.

“Don’t need to,” Harry grinned. “Got my strategy all worked out already.”

“Really? What are you going to do?” Daphne asked keenly.

Harry simply continued to grin mischievously at her. “That’d be telling.”

“But I’m your best friend, Harry. Surely you can tell me,” she said sweetly.

“Could, but won’t.”

“Please?” she asked, batting her eyelids at him exaggeratedly.

“Nope, you’ll just have to wait and see,” Harry told her.

Suddenly her demeanour changed and she scowled, a scowl that very quickly morphed into laughter.

“Prat!” she said, slapping his arm.

“Yep, that’s me,” Harry said, obviously pleased with himself.

“Well then, if you’re not going to tell me your plans, then I guess that we’re going to have to get down to work,” she said.

“Work?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Yes, Harry, work. We’re due for an Arithmancy revision lesson, remember? The end of year exams are only a couple of days away,” she reminded him.

“Did we plan to do that today?”

Daphne sighed, well aware of Harry’s propensity to forget things when he got caught up in one of his projects.

“Yes, Harry. Now go get your books,” she ordered.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:00am_

_Saturday, 24 June 1995_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Mister Potter,” a voice behind him drawled.

Harry turned from his conversation with Tracey and Daphne over breakfast at the Slytherin table to find Professor Snape looming behind him.

“You have … visitors,” Snape said, his lip curling in some unknown emotion as he delivered the message. “You can meet them in the side chamber to the Great Hall after breakfast.

Then, his message delivered, the professor spun on his heel and stalked away, his robes billowing behind him.

“Visitors?” Harry remarked to the girls once he’d turned back.

“I’m guessing that it’s a Champion thing,” Tracey stated. One hand pointed across the Hall. “Diggory, Krum and Delacour all have professors delivering messages to them as well.”

“It makes sense, I guess,” Daphne continued. “It’ll give you something to do for the day while we finish our exams.”

Harry nodded, his mind half on the question of who his visitors would be and half on the conversation. Finally, he blinked back fully into the conversation.

“Good luck with your exam,” he said. “What was it again? History of Magic?”

“Yeah,” Tracey agreed darkly. “And you can bet that there won’t be any questions about how quickly Binns can put you to sleep on it.”

“Come on, Trace, we better get going. Don’t want to be late to our final exam, do we?” Daphne said, pulling her friend out of her seat.

“Don’t think it’s going to matter _when_ I get there, the result’ll still be the same,” Tracey muttered.

“We’ll see you at lunch, Harry,” Daphne waved.

As he was finished eating, Harry too, rose from the table, but instead of heading out of the main doors, he followed the other Champions through a door hidden behind the staff table.

Upon entering, Harry paused in surprise. It seemed that each of the other Champions had family members there to greet them and to spend the day with them.

Cedric’s father had one arm slung around his shoulder while his mother was clutching his hand. Fleur was surrounded by not only her parents but also the young girl that Harry vaguely recognised from the Second Task of the Tournament. As for Viktor, he had a pair of thickset adults with identical heavy surly brows to him speaking to him in deep voices in what Harry guessed was Bulgarian.

“Harry!”

The happy-sounding voice jolted him from his inspection of the other Champions and their families to focus on the last corner of the room. There he found Sirius and a man he hadn’t seen since Christmas – Remus Lupin.

Quickly he moved across the room where he was engulfed in one of Sirius’ hugs.

“Hey, I didn’t know you guys were going to be here today,” Harry admitted.

“Well, why not?” Sirius asked. “The day of the Third Task has always been a day for families to come and spend it with the Champions, so of course we’re here. I am your godfather, if you’ll remember. Who did you expect to be here? The Dursleys?”

Harry instantly made a disgusted face just at the very thought of his relatives.

“Definitely not!” he said before reaching out a hand for Remus to shake. “Thanks for coming, guys. It’s good to see you both.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it, Pup, wouldn’t have missed it,” Sirius replied.

“It’s my honour to be here,” Remus smiled faintly.

“Well then,” Sirius said, “we’ve got the whole day together. What shall we do? A bit of mischief? A bit of mayhem?”

“Sirius,” Remus said, a clear warning and a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“Oh, all right then, I’ll be good,” he replied, visibly deflating, before instantly reinflating again. “Hey, I know! Remus hasn’t seen your workshop or your paintings or that runic puzzle box you made or any of the other stuff. I’ve tried to explain it to him, but I really don’t think I’ve done a very good job.”

“Would you be interested in seeing any of that?” Harry asked the man, still surprised that people liked seeing the stuff that he’d created.

“Yes, I would, Harry. Very much so,” Remus replied.

“Right, then,” Sirius cried, throwing out one hand dramatically. “Onward and upwards we go. Now, if I remember rightly, there was a secret passage behind one of the tapestries near here that takes you right up to the third floor in half the time as normal.”

“And you only think of telling me about this now?” Harry asked incredulously.

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Remus shaking his head, even as his lips twitched in supressed laughter from Sirius’ over-exaggerated antics as they walked along.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_4:45pm_

_Saturday, 24 June 1995_

_The Grounds, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

The day had passed in a relaxed atmosphere for Harry. He, Sirius and Remus had spent a great couple of hours in his room, somehow, Sirius had even managed to convince one of the house elves to provide them some biscuits, cakes and butterbeer so that they could snack as they lounged around.

Remus had been incredibly impressed with the painting of Ramaranth and spent nearly half an hour having Harry translate his conversation with the dragon. That brief conversation apparently increased Remus’ knowledge of dragons tenfold and it made Harry wonder exactly how much translating he’d be asked to do if he took the job at the dragon preserves.

Of course, Remus’ offhand comment about a book about dragons, by dragons, translated by Harry would be worth a small fortune set Sirius off on his plans for making Harry money once again. Of course, that meant that Harry was nearly pushed down the stairs to his workroom so that he could collect his runic puzzle box for Remus to examine. Harry wasn’t entirely happy that the man agreed with his godfather in terms of its possibilities, although the praise for his abilities and creativeness was nice.

When the stomachs of the three started to rumble, they made their way down to the Great Hall once again where all three sat at the Slytherin table with Daphne and Harry’s other friends in that House. The fact that it looked like Professor Snape was about to have a heart attack then and there set Sirius off into peals of laughter that eventually descended into chuckles for the rest of the meal.

Once the students had returned to class, Harry was led by his godfather and surrogate uncle on a meandering tour of the school where the two men proceeded to regale him with stories of their own adventures and many, many pranks within the castle walls. Professor McGonagall’s stern head emerging from her classroom when their laughter was echoing up and down the Transfiguration corridor sent the three scurrying outside to continue their day out on the grounds.

It was after they’d already completed one circuit of the school and were down by the Black Lake throwing stones for the giant squid to hit back at them, baseball style, that they noticed a man walking towards them.

The fact that Harry failed to recognise him had him sending glances at the men to either side of him. Remus seemed equally unaware of the man’s identity, but Sirius, judging by the slight tightening around his mouth, recognised him.

“Sirius?” Harry questioned.

“Cyrus Greengrass,” was all that Sirius was able to mutter to him from the corner of his mouth before the man drew too close not to overhear them.

He stopped within easy talking distance and looked the three over. His gaze immediately dismissed Remus and the slight narrowing of the eyes told Harry that he disliked Sirius. But it wasn’t either of them that his gaze fixated on. No, that honour belonged to Harry.

“Lord Greengrass,” Sirius said, sounding incredibly formal.

“Lord Black,” Greengrass returned. “Might I have a turn about the lake with your godson?”

“Harry?” Sirius asked.

Harry eyed the man suspiciously for a moment before nodding his head.

“Yeah, I guess that that’d be fine,” he said.

Then, after a brief nod of acknowledgement, Greengrass began walking away. Harry had to rush his first couple of steps to catch up to the man. Silence reigned between them as they walked and Harry could only put it down to the fact that Greengrass wanted to be absolutely sure that whatever he intended to say wouldn’t be overheard.

They were nearly a third of the way around the lake before Greengrass stopped. Thankfully, Harry was paying attention and was able to stop at the same time. Piercing blue eyes, only a shade or two different from Daphne’s, bored into him for nearly a minute before he finally spoke.

“You have caused quite a stir since your return to the Wizarding world, Mister Potter.”

Harry barely suppressed a snort. “That wasn’t exactly my doing. People just seem to get fixated on the most bizarre things, it seems. And of late, I’ve been it.”

“I hardly believe that it hasn’t been your doing, Mister Potter,” Greengrass disagreed. “You refuse to become a student of Hogwarts; you constantly cross House barriers that have been in place for centuries; you make a mockery of the TriWizard Tournament, refusing to compete, instead you make everyone watch you _paint_ and bribe mermen, of all beings, to complete your task for you; wear muggle attire to a formal wizarding event. Need I go on, Mister Potter?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Harry temporised, “it does sound … unorthodox, but in my defence, all I was doing was what I knew and what would help me survive this strange new world I’ve found myself in.”

Greengrass stared at him again for a moment, this time with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I can see how the wizarding world would seem quite strange for someone who grew up muggle and was thrust into it unexpectedly. Is this the reason that you are considering leaving Britain for a job as a _dragon keeper_?”

The disgust in the man’s voice made his opinion of anyone holding such a job very easy to understand.

“Well, Sir, when it comes down to it, the dragon keepers, at least, seem to respect my abilities and what I can do, not like the people here in Britain,” Harry replied. “I’m assuming that you saw the _Daily Prophet_ when people first learned that I could speak parseltongue? I got an awful lot of hate mail then, not to mention the way the students here reacted. It’s only been in the past month that things have turned around. _Now_ everyone wants me to stay. The-Boy-Who-Lived they call me, for something that happened nearly fourteen years ago and that I can’t remember nor _want_ to remember. They want their symbol, their idol, to stay where they can see me. Why should I?”

“You think the people of wizarding Britain want you to stay simply because you are The-Boy-Who-Lived?” Greengrass asked incredulously.

“Um, yes?” Harry replied, but he was suddenly feeling that he was missing something, something potentially big.

“While that may be a part of it, it is not the whole story,” Greengrass stated.

“Then what _is_ the whole story?” Harry asked. “Because no-one’s ever explained anything else to me.”

Greengrass stared at him.

“I honestly did not expect to be the one to have to tell you this. I thought that your godfather would have filled you in.”

“Sirius and I haven’t had a lot of time to spend together yet,” Harry replied. “And every time that we’ve discussed the future, he’s encouraged me to find what it is that I want to do and to pursue it to the best of my ability.”

“For most, that would be sound advice,” Greengrass stated. “But for you, there is more to know. Quite simply, you are a Potter.”

Harry looked at him nonplussed. “And?”

“Being a Potter means that you are from one of the Ancient and Noble Houses. And being _the Head_ of one of the Ancient and Noble Houses, it means that you carry a lot of responsibility,” Greengrass stated. “Not being a Potter, I do not know the full of it. What I do know, though, is that you are likely to have many holdings and investments in wizarding Britain. You also have a seat waiting for you on the Wizengamot when you turn twenty-one. Not to mention a hereditary seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors.”

Harry stared at the man before he found his gaze drawn downwards to the twin rings on his right hand – the Head of House rings for Potter and Peverell. He vaguely remembered the goblin that had given them to him, as well as Sirius, mentioning something about all of this before, but it’d never really sunk in. He guessed that there was always too much other stuff going on to have to worry about stuff that he’d never seen or understood.

“Twenty-one,” Harry said, latching onto part of Greengrass’ words. “You said twenty-one. I’m already an adult. I was emancipated. Should I be looking after this stuff already.”

“Some of it, yes,” Greengrass replied. “But you are not the first person to be emancipated in history and there are laws in place to cover that. Both the Wizengamot and the Board of Governors have stipulated that no one can take their seats until they reach the age of twenty-one, regardless of their legal status.”

“So, as long as I’m ready and prepared to fulfil those duties then, I can do what I want between now and then, can’t I?” Harry smiled.

Greengrass shrugged. “That is between you and your financial administrator, assuming that you’ve appointed one.”

Greengrass’ eyes narrowed slightly then and his back straightened and Harry had the feeling that they’d finally reached the original point to this entire meeting.

“From your choice of words, it would seem to me as though, regardless of your decision on whether or not to take employment with the dragon reserves, you are likely to be in Britain in the coming years,” he said.

Harry nodded, getting an echoing nod from Greengrass before he continued.

“In that case, it is my duty to ask your intentions towards my daughter.”

Harry blanched and his eyes nearly bugged out. “My … my intentions?”

“Indeed,” Greengrass replied. “I am aware that you and Daphne spend an extraordinary amount of time together, even outside of your tutoring lessons. You escorted her to the Yule Ball and she was deemed ‘the one that you would miss the most’ in the Second Task. So, I ask again: what are your intentions towards my daughter.”

For a fleeting instant, Harry was transported back three months to Daphne telling him that her father had instructed her not to get too close to him. There didn’t seem to be a right way to answer the question, so he decided to go with honesty.

“To be honest, Sir, I don’t know,” he began. “Daphne has become my closest friend here at Hogwarts. But that’s all we are: friends. I suspect that there might be potential for more, but we’re never explored it or even talked about it. And the odds are very high that I’ll be leaving Britain soon for I don’t know how many years. And from everything that I’ve heard, maintaining a friendship over that sort of distance is hard, let alone anything else. I don’t know if that answers your question or not, Sir, but it’s the best that I can give.”

“No, Mister Potter, that answered my question quite nicely. Thank you,” Greengrass replied.

After a glance at the slowly descending sun, he indicated that they begin their return journey.

 “Thank you for your time, Mister Potter and good luck this evening,” Daphne’s father said, offering his hand.

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry replied. “Hopefully I won’t need it.”


	31. The Task Fights Back

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_6:50pm_

_Saturday, 24 June 1995_

_Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Regardless of the fact that Harry knew the strategy that he was going to use for the Third Task of the TriWizard Tournament to combat the maze, its enchantments and the various magical creatures within it, and the fact that he had absolutely nothing to worry about, his nerves still got the better of him the closer the time came to the start of the Third Task.

This meant that, when it came to dinner, he was more inclined to push his food around his plate than to actually eat it. Sirius, though, with assistance from Daphne and Remus, would have none of that. Together, they managed to convince him to at least eat half of it. Truthfully, Harry wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. He knew that going into the evening on an empty stomach wasn’t a good thing, but by the same token the butterflies in there didn’t seem to like having their space crowded with food.

“It is almost time for the Third Task to begin,” Headmaster Dumbledore had announced from his podium, causing Harry to drop his fork. “If the Champions could make their way down to the quidditch pitch now. The rest of us will follow along shortly.”

The four Champions had walked somewhat together. There was no talking between them, only looks of intense concentration on each face. Harry couldn’t decide which one looked the most confident, all he could tell was that all three were in it to win it, which was fine by him.

Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch had been waiting for them at the entrance to the pitch and escorted them the last dozen metres or so. Just before they entered the Champions’ tent which was placed just inside and to the right of the entryway, Harry was able to get a brief look up into the stands.

Currently, with the school’s population still to come down, it looked mostly empty, but there were quite a number of sections beginning to fill up with adults. A shock of recognisable red hair caught his attention, especially when the owner of said hair began pointing in his direction to the man sitting beside him. Harry returned Charlie Weasley’s wave as well as the nod from the other man, who Harry could only guess was also connected to the Romanian Dragon Reserve.

Just as had been the case for the previous two Tasks, the inside of the tent had four small sections partitions sectioned off, one for each Champion, as well as a general area in the middle. Automatically, the four of the them began moving towards their area, only to be stopped by Mister Crouch.

“You will have a few minutes with your family and a select few friends, for them to wish you well before we get underway. We will then go through the rules, although you should all know them by now, while the audience is being informed of the same thing. And then the Third Task will begin. Take the next few minutes to prepare yourselves.”

With that said, the two men disappeared, leaving the four to their own contemplations.

The heavy tread of hundreds of feet passing by the tent told the story of what was happening outside. At the sharp flap of canvas, Harry’s head snapped up to see a flow of people coming in. Instantly, he focussed on the ones obviously for him.

“Good luck, Pup!” Sirius said, giving him a brief hug, while Remus clapped him on the shoulder. “No matter what happens out there, we’re proud of you.”

“If you get a chance, do you think you could get me a cutting of that hedge?” Neville asked. “Considering how quickly it grew, it’s got to be magical.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Nev,” Harry grinned.

“Seriously, though, good luck in there, Harry,” Neville said.

“Good luck, Harry,” Susan and Hermione said together, before looking at each other and laughing nervously.

That laughter was repeated when the two girls moved to give him a hug at the same time. In the end, the three-way hug was awkward, but brief.

“Are you going to tell me what you have planned, Harry?” Daphne asked, stepping forward.

“Surely you’ve worked it out by now,” Harry replied with a wry smile.

“Prat!” she said, grinning and slapping his arm, exactly as she did every time that he’d refused to tell her his strategy. “Seriously, though, Harry, good luck in there and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t plan on it, Daph,” Harry replied.

When Harry saw her move towards him, he expected a brief hug, just as the others had given him. Instead, Daphne reached up, cupped his face with her hands, leaned in and kissed him. It only lasted a few seconds or perhaps a lifetime. It was simple, sweet and tasted vaguely of strawberries. Somewhere along the way, Harry found that his hands were now resting on Daphne’s hips. As the kiss ended, he opened his eyes to see her cerulean blue eyes shining with something unidentifiable.

“Friends and family of the Champions, it is time for you to take your seats in the stands,” Mister Crouch called, breaking the spell and the moment between the two.

Without a word, Daphne stepped back, allowing Harry’s hands to fall limply to his sides, then she turned, her long, silky, black hair swishing behind her as she joined the others in disappearing through the tent’s flaps.

“Right then, gather round, everyone and we’ll go through the rules one last time,” Mister Crouch instructed. “Mister Potter? Harry? Come along, come along.”

Almost independent of his own thoughts, Harry joined the others in the centre of the tent, but his mind was still trying to process exactly what had just happened. She’d kissed him. Daphne had kissed him. He wanted nothing more than to chase after her and to talk to her. To ask her why and, if he was honest with himself, to repeat the experience. His mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, remembering the feeling of her soft lips pressed against his and wondering why.

That really was the big question. Why now? This night was already due to be a long and very important one. There was the Task to get through and, with then the Dragon Reserve’s offer to discuss and decide upon. A decision that had just become a hundred times more difficult and important.

“Are you listening, Mister Potter?” Mister Crouch asked and the slight hint of exasperation in the man’s voice told Harry that that wasn’t the first time that he’d been called.

“Sorry. What were you saying?” he asked sheepishly.

“Right. Now that all _four_ of you are paying attention,” Mister Crouch said, giving Harry a look of disapproval, “we can go through the rules for this Task. The Task is easy enough in principle: you simply make your way to the very centre of the maze and the first to touch the TriWizard Cup is the winner.

“If you get into any trouble in there that you can’t handle on your own, simply send up red sparks and one of the professors who will be patrolling the outside of the maze will come in and get you. That will, of course, instantly disqualify you from the Task.

“Mister Krum will enter first; followed by Mister Diggory twelve seconds later; Miss Delacour forty-seven seconds after that; and lastly Mister Potter five minutes and three seconds after that.

“You are only allowed to take your wand in with you and summoning of objects from outside the maze is strictly forbidden and will instantly disqualify you.”

This last part was said with Mister Crouch looking firmly at Harry. For his part, he simply gave a wry grin. He suspected that this wasn’t one of the original rules, but since he had used a summoning charm to get what he needed in both of the other two Tasks, he couldn’t exactly blame them for adding it in.

“I think that’s everything. If there are no questions? Good. When you hear your name, you may enter the stadium.”

With that, Mister Crouch left the tent, leaving the four Champions standing loosely in a circle, nervously eyeing each other. Thankfully, that only lasted for a moment before the sound of Ludo Bagman’s amplified voice filtered in.

“Without further ado, I give you your TriWizard Champions!”

A great roar and the sound of hundreds of people clapping and cheering filled not only the stadium, but the tent, making it difficult to hear.

“REPRESENTING DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE OF MAGIC: VIKTOR KRUM!”

Harry didn’t think it was possible, but somehow the cheers, screams and general roar doubled as the Bulgarian Champion and quidditch star emerged from the tent.

“OUR HOMEGROWN CHAMPION, REPRESENTING HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY: CEDRIC DIGGORY!”

If there was a difference in the cheers for the Viktor and Cedric, Harry certainly couldn’t pick it.

“REPRESENTING BEAUXBATONS ACADEMIE OF MAGIC: FLEUR DELACOUR!”

As Fleur exited the tent to the cheers of the crowd, Harry readied himself, knowing that he’d be called next.

“AND LASTLY, OUR FOURTH CHAMPION, REPRESENTING STONEWALL HIGH, HARRY POTTER!”

As Harry emerged from the tent, it was to find that the sound in the tent was actually being muffled. Hundreds, no thousands of people were jammed into the stadium all of whom were on their feet clapping and cheering, whistling and stomping. Nervously, Harry raised his hand in acknowledgement. It was at that moment that a dozen bright flashes assaulted him from the reporters that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Champions, if you would stand here,” Mister Crouch directed.

Harry found himself lined up beside the other Champions facing the, as promised, now ten-foot high hedge maze. Deep shadows lined the area beside it and Harry could only guess how dark and gloomy it would be actually inside there. Directly across from where they were standing was a small gap, no larger than the width of an ordinary door – the only entrance to the maze.

“On the sound of the canon, the TriWizard Tournament shall begin,” Ludo Bagman announced to the crowd.

_BANG!_

Instantly, Viktor took off in a sprint that would do an Olympic runner proud. Within seconds he’d disappeared inside the maze.

_BANG!_

This time it was Cedric’s turn to dash into the maze. While he was nowhere near as fast as Viktor, he was no slouch either. There was only a slightly longer pause this time before …

_BANG!_

Fleur raced off to enter the maze behind her fellow competitors.

And then it was time for Harry to simply stand around and wait. He considered sitting, but thought that that might be giving the game away a smidgen too early. Idly, his gaze wandered around the stadium and it wasn’t long before he found himself frowning.

There was absolutely nothing to enable any of the spectators to see what was happening inside the maze. The hedge walls were far too high to allow most of the people in the stands to see over them and of those that probably could, it’d be too dark to see anything. Oh, maybe some flashes of colour every now and then if and when a spell was used, but that wouldn’t really tell anyone much.

Harry simply had to shake his head. Whoever had designed these Tasks seemed to have absolutely no regard for those watching. This was the second one now where the spectators couldn’t see what was happening, having to simply wait until the end to find out who won. At least with the Second Task, Harry provided some entertainment. That wouldn’t be the case this time.

_BANG!_

In his idle staring around and musing, Harry’d lost track of the time and had been startled at the unexpected sound. Gathering himself, he trotted off to the entrance of the maze. Passing through the opening, he found that it immediately branched off to either side. Choosing at random, Harry turned right and continued jogging for another couple of metres before stopping with a smile, looking around and promptly sitting down.

Inside the maze really was as dark and shadowy as he’d expected. In the dim light, it was near impossible to see any further than maybe five metres in any direction.

Originally, Harry’d planned to whittle while he waited. His small collection had grown to five so far – dragon, goblin, unicorn, merman and house elf – and he’d not long started on an abraxan, one of the winged horses that’d apparently pulled the Beauxbatons carriage from France to Hogwarts. This would have been an ideal time to get a lot further on in its creation.

Wiggling around to get himself comfortable (he really had no idea how long this was going to take and he wouldn’t be surprised if it lasted an hour or two), Harry found himself leaning back into the hedges. The leaves and twigs were a bit sharp and pointy and scratchy in places, but by wiggling and shifting about, he eventually managed to find a position that he was certain that he could relax in for quite some time to come.

Deciding that it’d been a big day already and knowing that he’d be up quite late that night, Harry closed his eyes, intent on getting some rest.

The sudden tightening of something over various parts of his body snapped his eyes open bare moments before his world went absolutely crazy. But in those moments, Harry was able to recognise that _something_ had grabbed hold of both his ankles, his thighs, arms, stomach and chest, holding him tightly and making it impossible for him to move in any direction.

And then he was dragged backwards into the hedge. Sharp twigs and branches jabbed into his body in every which way. His head was knocked from side to side even as his mouth was filled with leaves, preventing him from crying out in shock and fear. The world went pitch black and he could hear his clothes tearing, feel his skin being pierced and scratched. His glasses were knocked askew and were barely hanging on to one ear.

As quickly as it began, Harry was ejected from the hedge, the plant tendrils unwinding at such speed that he was sent spinning, rolling across the ground before he came to rest up against the opposite hedge wall.

Realising what the sharp and leafy object was against his side, sent Harry rolling back the way he came until he came to rest face down in the middle of the pathway.

With a groan, he lifted his head and righted his glasses. His body hurt in dozens of places from the brief passage through the hedge and it was all he could do to push himself to his hands and knees.

Wherever he was, it looked identical to where he’d just left – there was the same deep gloom and two identical hedges, no longer quite so innocent, lined either side of him.

Slowly he stood up, spitting the last of the leaves from his mouth and picking bits of twigs and other plant material from his clothes and even from where they’d pierced his skin. Blood oozed from a dozen places that he could see and his left foot felt a little tender to stand on, but overall, he decided that he was in one piece.

“Now where am I?” he muttered, absently sticking one of the larger bits of hedge into his pocket to give to Neville later.

His best guess was the next aisle over, making him marginally closer to the centre of the maze. Suspiciously, he looked back at the maze that he’d just come through, but right now, it was sitting idle, displaying no more signs of life than any other plant, well, apart from the whomping willow and some of those other plants that Neville had once shown him in Greenhouse Three.

Deciding that his best bet was to get back closer to the start of the maze, Harry started off to the left. He’d barely gone five metres when the hedges to either side of him and stretching down as far as he could see, began leaning inwards. Tendrils and branches shot across the pathway, linking up with their counterparts and entwining together to form an impenetrable wall blocking his path within moments.

“Right. Not that way, then,” Harry said.

He knew that they’d been told that there’d be enchantments in the maze, but he never imagined that that would mean the _hedges_ would work against them!

When he’d done nothing but take a couple of steps backwards, the maze must have decided that he needed an additional prompt, for it slowly began bringing its blockage forward, forcing him backwards at a faster and faster pace.

Harry’s mind raced as he trotted down the path. Somewhere on the other side of the hedge to his left was the original path that he’d entered on and that, he knew, led to the outside world.

Finally, a corner appeared, but instead of to the left where he wanted to go, this one turned right, deeper into the maze.

Deciding that he’d had enough, Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the hedge. His mind flicked back to the lesson that he’d had with Professor Flitwick before he focussed fully on the task at hand.

“ _Incendio!”_

Instantly, in the white-hot fire that he’d created, a hole in the hedge appeared, burnt straight through. But before Harry could take advantage of it, the hedge around the hole shot out tendrils and branches to seal the breach and to close the gap.

He glanced to the path behind him, but he had no intention whatsoever of going deeper into the maze – who knew what he’d find in there if the very _plants_ were this dangerous. And unfortunately, he knew that if he stayed still too long, the hedges would get it into their … heads? that he needed some more prompting to get moving again.

“Well, if I can’t go over it and I’ve got no idea how to get around it, that just leaves under or over,” Harry mused. And then, after looking at the ground. “Right, over it it is.”

The problem now was that the hedges were ten feet high, far too high to jump and he suspected that the hedges wouldn’t like being climbed. Or stood upon, he decided.

“Time to get a little creative,” Harry mused.

He paced backwards and forwards a few times, looking up at the hedge surrounding him. His mind whirled, trying to work out a way around his problem. If he only had a knife, at least that’d be something to work with. But if he was going to wish for something that he didn’t have, then why not go full out and wish for his trunk. In there, in his workroom, was all the tools and materials he’d need to build or create anything that he’d need.

Suddenly, Harry froze mid-step. In there were exactly the things that he needed. Or at least the _ideas_ of which he could use. His mind flittered about: wood, book, doll house. And a small smile appeared on his face.

Spinning around, Harry levelled his wand at the maze, took careful aim and cast the most powerful cutting spell he knew. It wasn’t much, but a couple of twigs and a tendril dropped to the ground and Harry pounced on them.

Idly, he raised one hand and a ball of light appeared to hover up and away, bathing the area in a soft golden glow.

Then, bringing the pages of the book that Sirius had recently given him on magical woodworking to mind, he began to work.

The first thing that he had to do was enlarge the twigs and then reduce them into planks. Taking two, he used his wand to carve them into large ovals, nearly twice the size of his feet. They weren’t pretty and looked horribly wrong, but for what he wanted them for, he knew that they’d do.

Each plank then had half a dozen holes bored through them and the tendrils threaded through the holes.

Three more quick cutting curses at the plant produced enough twigs for the next part of his plan.

These twigs were placed under a series of _engorgios_ , some more than others. Using his wandless magic, Harry moved the now trunk-sized twigs into place, balancing some on top of others until he’d fashioned himself a rough staircase that reached as high as the hedge.

Grabbing up his oval planks, Harry scrambled up the ‘staircase’ to stand at the very top.

From here, he could see the maze stretching away into the distance. The lights from the stadium even lit up the tops of the hedges making it possible for him to plot a course deeper into the maze towards the centre. In a couple of places, Harry could see a shimmering golden mist and in others, the hint of movement, but whether from plant life, creatures or Champions, was impossible to tell.

Having placed his oval planks on the top trunk/step, Harry stepped on to them and bent and worked at tying the tendrils around each foot as tightly as possible. Standing back up, he tested each one by lifting his foot and the plank that it was now attached to.

Satisfied, he nodded. He now had some ‘snow-shoes’, or more properly, ‘hedge-shoes’ to hopefully allow him to move about on _top_ of the maze.

Hesitantly, Harry stepped out. The ‘ground’ felt very unstable, but he could stand on the hedge, however wobbly he was.

Deliberately turning his back on the centre of the maze, Harry plotted out his course and began walking. Each step was an adventure. Remembering to swing each leg wide so that the planks didn’t catch on each other was essential.

But slowly, deliberately, Harry began making his way towards the outer wall of the maze. Twice he had to change directions when the maze before him decided to shift about. But finally, finally, he was there.

Looking down, Harry could see the ground. The crowd, he knew had been yelling and screaming for ages, but he’d deliberately _not_ listened to a word that they were saying.

This, he knew, was going to hurt.

Nevertheless, Harry jumped, leaping from the maze and the competition.

For him, the TriWizard Tournament was over.

 


	32. Wants, Needs and Regrets

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:45pm_

_Saturday, 24 June 1995_

_Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

Jumping from a height of ten feet is never a good idea. Jumping from a height of ten feet with a pair of large boards strapped to your feet was only ever going to end in disaster. Harry intended on landing with his knees bent and rolling with the momentum. But he didn’t take into account his footwear. There was no way that he was going to roll, instead, the boards tangled together and he ended up faceplanting.

Everything hurt, but especially his right ankle from which he’d heard a suspiciously ominous crack when he landed, and his nose and tongue, which he’d bitten when his jaw hit the ground.

_Ah good. Help’s coming_ , he absently thought as he heard the stampede of feet getting louder.

“Harry? Are you alright? What were you thinking, jumping from there?’ Sirius asked.

“Let me through, let me through,” a second voice demanded.

A tingling sensation washed over his body before he was gently levitated, rolled over so that he was face up and laid back on the ground.

Madam Pomfrey’s wand was a blur as she waved it about it. A wiggling and a slight crack in his nose fixed that injury. A golden glow encompassed his ankle and he sighed in relief. Numerous other, smaller injuries were similarly wiped away.

“Here, Harry, you might need these,” Sirius said, handing him his glasses.

“Thanks,” he said, putting them back on.

“You understand that by exiting the maze, you forfeit the Third Task and the TriWizard Tournament, don’t you, Mister Potter?” Bartemius Crouch asked with a frown.

Harry pushed himself up so that he was leaning on his elbows instead of lying flat on his back.

“Yep. It’s bloody dangerous in there,” Harry stated.

“That was the point, you know,” Ludo Bagman stated. “To challenge the Champions and to test their mettle.”

“Mister Potter, David Fowl, reporter for _The Daily Prophet_ ,” a short stocky man introduced himself, a piece of parchment and quill floating alongside his head. “Can you tell us what happened inside the maze? What challenges you faced that forced you to exit in such a dramatic fashion?”

“First you have to remember that I never wanted to be in the Tournament in the first place,” Harry replied. “And I never considered myself a Champion. The three still in there _are_ true Champions. Not to mention the fact that, with my lack of magical education, I was never going to be a serious competitor.”

“One could argue that point, Mister Potter,” Fowl replied. “Regardless of your scores, you _did_ successfully complete the previous two Tasks.”

“Sheer dumb luck,” Harry replied with a shake of his head. “I never expected to complete them, thus, I never tried; my only goal was to ‘put on a bit of a show for the audience’.”

“And tonight?” Fowl asked.

“My goal for tonight was to walk into the maze and to take a seat until it was over,” he stated.

“You never intended to even try?” an incredulous Crouch asked.

“Nope,” Harry replied happily. “Unfortunately, the maze had other ideas. The hedge grabbed me and dragged me deeper into the maze before closing up passageways that I assume prevented me from getting back to the start again. So, since I couldn’t go through it or around it, I found a way to go over the maze.”

As he had been saying all of that, Harry had been undoing and discarding his ‘hedge-shoes’.

“Where did you get the materials to make that, Mister Potter?” Crouch asked.

“The hedge of course,” he replied. “A few twigs and a whole bunch of spells.”

Finally, he was able to stand, gingerly at first as he tested his ankle, but Madam Pomfrey’s spells had done the trick and he was quickly bouncing on it to test it out, a smile on his face.

“So, what’s been happening out here?” Harry asked.

“Nothing much. Pretty boring, really. At least until you popped up and began walking about on top of the maze,” Sirius shrugged.

Harry shook his head. “Whoever came up with these Tasks are idiots. One underwater and one hidden behind a ten-foot hedge. Not exactly conducive to being a spectator event.”

Harry attempted to follow Sirius back towards the stands where he’d been sitting, but was prevented from doing so by both Crouch and Bagman, who insisted that he remain close to the small stage that had been set up not far from the Champion’s tent.

The next half hour passed in boredom for Harry. There was nothing to see or do. He tried to find Daphne in the stands, but in the crowds of hundreds or thousands, that was impossible. Not that here would have been the best place for them to have some privacy to talk about what had happened moments before the Task had begun.

Finally, a brief flash of light in the middle of the stage heralded the arrival of the second person out of the maze. And this one was clutching a trophy in their hand.

“YOUR TRIWIZARD CHAMPION OF CHAMPIONS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, VIKTOR KRUM OF DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE OF MAGIC!” Bagman’s enchanted voice boomed across the stadium.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause loud enough to deafen. Over it all, a steady thump and deep bass chant could be heard coming from the Bulgarian section of the crowd. By the time it finally stopped some ten minutes later, the remaining two Champions had been retrieved.

Then Harry was made to wait through the presentation ceremony and the many boring speeches from the politicians who all seemed to think that having a captive audience meant that it was the perfect time to do some politicking. The trophy was officially presented to Viktor, along with a bag that looked far too small to hold one thousand galleons, but Harry chalked that up to the wonders of magic. There were photos of Viktor; photos of all the Champions together; and dozens of others that left spots dancing in Harry’s eyes.

Finally, Headmaster Dumbledore said the words that Harry had been longing to hear.

“I now declare the TriWizard Tournament of nineteen ninety-four and nineteen ninety-five to be finished!”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_9:10pm_

_Saturday, 24 June 1995_

_Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

A low grumble, far too low for anyone to make out the words, emanated from Harry as he travelled the spiral staircase up the Headmaster’s Office.

_This_ was not where he wanted to be. He wanted to find Daphne. He wanted to finish his conversation with Charlie Weasley and Alexander Vellios. Fortunately, they’d been accommodating when Professor McGonagall had interrupted them just after they’d made introductions to say that Headmaster Dumbledore needed a word with Harry. They’d been able to make plans to meet the next day, at least. And more than anything, Harry wanted to just find his bed and crawl into it; it’d been a long, long day.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore called after he’d knocked.

Tiredly, Harry entered and trudged across the room to sit in front of one of the chairs in front of the Headmaster’s desk.

“Lemon drop?” Dumbledore asked, holding out a small bowl.

“No, thank you,” Harry replied.

“Firstly, let me congratulate you on getting through the TriWizard Tournament,” Dumbledore said. “It is truly an achievement, considering your very limited magical education.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry replied.

“I think that I would be correct in assuming that you’re wondering why I asked you here?” At Harry’s nod, he continued. “Before I answer that, can I ask if you have signed the contract with the Dragon Reserves yet?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. So, this was to be a last-ditch effort to recruit him as a student of Hogwarts, was it?

“No, Sir, we have plans to meet tomorrow to discuss the offer,” Harry replied.

“Good, good,” Dumbledore replied. “There is still time, then, for me to offer you some information that may assist you in making the wisest choice for your future.”

“What information?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Tell me, Harry, what do you know about the circumstances of your parents’ death?”

Harry started at the random change of topic.

“Not much. They were killed by Voldemort, who then tried to kill me. But the spell backfired, killing him instead and left me with this scar,” he replied, reaching up to touch his famous lightning bolt.

“Basic, but concise,” Dumbledore stated. “However, it is Voldemort’s reasoning behind the attack that I think is the most important at this time.”

“His reasons?” Harry echoed, before shaking his head. “From what Sirius said, my parents had been fighting against Voldemort, even duelling and escaping him a couple of times; that couldn’t have been good for his reputation.”

“While that in and of itself would ordinarily have been enough for Voldemort, there was another reason,” Dumbledore replied.

“What reason is that?” Harry asked.

“You see, Harry, before you were born, there was a prophecy made about a child that would have the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore stated.

“A prophecy?” Harry asked incredulously. “Seriously? A prophecy? Everyone I’ve talked to has said that Divination is a … a, what was it Hermione called it,” suddenly he snapped his fingers, “that’s right, a woolly subject.”

“To most, it is, Harry. But to those few who have the gift, it is something else,” Dumbledore replied. “And the person who made this prophecy does have the gift.”

“Okay, so there was a prophecy made,” Harry said slowly. “What does it say.”

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...._ "

As Dumbledore finished speaking, Harry sat back in his chair, staring at the man. His mind was whirling, trying to understand. Finally, he gave up with a shake of his head.

“What does it mean?” Harry asked.

“Quite simply, that a child born at the end of July, as you are Harry, whose parents have defied him three times, as yours did, would have an unknown power to vanquish Voldemort and that that child _and only that child_ could do so,” Dumbledore explained.

“Then … then isn’t the prophecy complete then?” Harry asked. “Voldemort tried to kill me but couldn’t. Somehow, and no one seems to know how, I killed Voldemort. That’s why I’m famous in the wizarding world.”

“That would be true, Harry, if you did, in fact, kill Voldemort that night,” Dumbledore stated. “All we know for sure is that Voldemort was defeated. He was not killed or vanquished as the prophecy requires.”

“He’s not dead?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Alas, no,” Dumbledore replied. “It is my belief that he is nothing more than a disembodied spirit at the present time, but he will return and when he does, we must be ready.”

“But you don’t know for sure?” Harry asked.

“I can assure you that I do.”

“How? How can you be sure?” Harry insisted.

“There have been signs and warnings, many of which are hard to see, I will admit, but that does not mean that they’re not there. You’re just going to have to trust me on this, Harry,” Dumbledore replied.

“Why tell me this? Why now?” Harry asked.

“You are the child of the prophecy, Harry,” Dumbledore stated. “And it is time that you began to ready yourself to fulfil your destiny. When Voldemort returns, it will be here, in Britain, and you will be needed here.”

“Here,” Harry replied flatly. “You think I should be here waiting for an evil Dark Lord to return so that I should face him? Didn’t that prophecy say something about ‘either must die at the hands of the other’?”

“It did, Harry. Only you will have the power to finally vanquish Voldemort.”

“Yeah, and that he can do the same to me,” Harry replied darkly. “And what’s that power supposed to be anyway?”

“The one thing that Voldemort has never known or appreciated. Love,” Dumbledore smiled.

Harry stared at the ancient wizard incredulously. Just when he thought the conversation couldn’t get any weirder.

“Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t swing that way,” Harry deadpanned. “And even if I did, what do I know of love? I grew up with the _Dursleys_!”

“Yes, the family of your mother’s sister. That is why I placed you there. The bond between families is truly remarkable,” Dumbledore told him.

“Remarkably hateful, yeah, sure,” Harry groused.

“I knew when I left you there that I would be consigning you to many dark years, Harry, and yet you have emerged stronger and more capable of love than you know,” Dumbledore replied.

The man was an idiot, Harry decided. Placing a baby into an abusive environment and _expecting_ it to come out strong and capable of loving? Harry had a hard enough time simply making friends. Yeah, sure, there was Daphne, but even he wasn’t sure what _that_ was. That was why he wanted to talk to her so much, so that he could, hopefully, finally work out what all these weird feeling were that he was constantly trying to understand.

Deciding to leave that topic alone, he changed tacks.

“So, if an evil madman is after me, why leave me untrained? Couldn’t you find some way to bring me here sooner so that I’ll at least have some chance against him?” he asked.

“I’m afraid that my hands were tied by our laws,” Dumbledore replied. “To have removed you from your aunt’s home and to bring you here would have been considered as kidnapping. The Tournament presented an opportunity, though. And once I enchanted the cup and ensured that your name came out of it, it was one which I was very glad to see that you took. And once you were here, I did all that I could to further your education and training – I ensured that you had the very best tutors to compliment the outstanding teachers that Hogwarts has and I endeavoured to challenge you through the Tasks of the TriWizard Tournament, although you were less than helpful in that regard.”

“WHAT? _You’re_ the one who got me into this stupid Tournament in the first place? You could have killed me! You made me walk out to face a dragon! How was I to know that I could talk to her? For all I knew, I was about to be eaten or roasted. And then you _endeavoured to challenge me_ through the rest of the TriWiz?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowed. “You were the one who chose to put Daphne at the bottom of the lake, just to motivate me.”

“I was and it succeeded, in however an unorthodox method,” Dumbledore replied. “It showed me that you would do whatever you could for those you cared for.”

“And I’m guessing that you were behind the hedges forcing me onwards tonight as well?” Harry challenged.

“Correct again, Harry,” but this time Dumbledore frowned. “Your early exit from the maze was most displeasing. If you are to be ready to face Voldemort once again, then you must learn to face challenges and overcome them.”

“I did,” Harry snapped. “The hedges were preventing me from my goal and I found a way to overcome it.”

“Regardless, the Tournament is over now and it is imperative that we work towards furthering your education and preparing for Voldemort’s return,” Dumbledore stated. “I, and Hogwarts, can help you there.”

“So can the dragon reserves,” Harry countered. “They’ve offered to continue my education.”

“But away from Britain, Harry and that is unacceptable. What would happen if Voldemort was to return while you were still under contract in another county? Countless thousands could very well die while we waited for you to be released from you contract,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“You want me to make a decision on a hypothetical maybe?” Harry asked.

“I’m afraid that it is imperative that you do,” Dumbledore replied.

Harry could see how the rest of this conversation was going to go. Dumbledore would continue to insist that he remain in Britain, in Hogwarts even, regardless of Harry’s personal preferences. The man was a manipulating bastard! He used an ancient artifact to manipulate Harry into choosing his world and had been attempting to pull his strings ever since. And he was still doing it!

All because of a stupid prophecy! Harry knew that he was relatively untrained and if Dumbledore’s theory that Voldemort would one day return was true and he was forced to face the Dark Lord, that there was no way that he could survive.

Harry desperately wanted out of the office and out of the castle and away from Dumbledore’s influence. The decision that he’d been waffling over had finally been made. All thanks to Dumbledore. But Harry knew that it probably wasn’t wise to mention that fact just yet.

“Look. I’m tired and you’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said.

“Very wise, Harry, it is never good to rush into important decisions like this. One must always weigh the options and decide what is the best for the most number of people. Doing what is right instead of what is easy,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles.

With a nod, Harry stood.

“Thank you for the information, Headmaster. Good night.”

“Good night, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “We can talk more once your decision has been made about your future education.”

_Yeah, right_ , Harry sarcastically thought as he strode towards the door.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_7:50am_

_Sunday, 25 June 1995_

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

All through breakfast, Harry tried to work Daphne out and found that he was failing abysmally. The cynical part of his mind told him that that was how it was supposed to be. He was a guy, she was a girl and he’d once heard that the instant a girl even _thought_ a guy was close to figuring her out, she would up and change all the rules and make him start again.

But he’d been stealing glances at her throughout the meal and she gave nothing away. There was no hint of awkwardness or nervousness, no hint whatsoever that anything had happened between them the night before. The conversation was natural with no uncomfortable silences that begged to be filled.

At least on her end.

For him, he felt tongue-tied and clumsy, as though everything screamed out to the world that he was confused and unsure.

Finally, breakfast was over and they rose from the table.

“Uh, Daphne? Could we go somewhere and talk? You know, privately?” Harry asked.

There was only the very briefest of _something_ in her eye which told him that she knew exactly what he was asking.

“Sure, Harry, how about a walk around the lake?” she replied.

“That’s be brilliant,” Harry replied.

This time, as they walked through the castle and across the grounds, the silence between then seemed uncomfortable, as though the very air around them was thick and heavy.

Their steps took them onto the well-trod path almost unconsciously and Harry could feel his heart start to beat faster, harder, as though it wanted to burst out of his chest in his nervousness.

With a touch on her hand, he stopped her.

“Why’dyoukissmelastnight?” he blurted.

She laughed at him, her smile wide. “Try again, Harry and this time, slow it down so that I have a chance of actually understanding you.”

After a deep breath, he repeated his question. “Why’d you kiss me last night?”

She turned from him then and gestured for him to join her as they continued to amble along the pathway.

“Have you decided, Harry? Are you going to sign the contract?” she asked instead of answering his question.

“Yeah, I have and I will,” Harry sighed. “I need to.”

“And you want to,” Daphne added. “But why need?”

“Because I had a meeting with Dumbledore last night and I found out a few things,” Harry replied.

“Oh? Such as?” Daphne asked.

“Like _he_ was the one who put my name in the Goblet and that he’s been trying to manipulate me, to challenge me, to see what I’m made of and what I can do,” Harry replied. “He also told me that Voldemort’s not as dead and gone as everyone thinks and that he’ll be back one day and because of some stupid prophecy, that apparently, I’m the only one who can vanquish him. Me! An untrained kid defeat a powerful Dark wizard? Oh, and get this, I’m supposed to be able to do it with ‘love’!”

Daphne stopped and stared at him, her blue eyes boring into his green ones.

“Dumbledore really told you all that? And he believes it? What does he want you to do?” she asked.

“He wants to have me handy for if and when Voldemort turns up again, not traipsing around the world where I’m of no use to him,” Harry spat.

“I see,” Daphne replied and gestured for them to start walking again. “And if it wasn’t for Dumbledore, what would your decision have been?”

“I don’t know, Daph,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was leaning towards it, but …”

“You want it,” she answered for him. “You love being able to talk to dragons, the things you’ll see, the places you’ll go; it’s an adventure just waiting for you out there, all you have to do is sign on the dotted line. And you’d regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t go.”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Harry conceded. “But it means leaving here and Sirius and Hermione, Susan, Neville and … you.”

“You can always come back to us, you know,” she pointed out, “once you’ve done adventuring.”

“I guess,” Harry replied, not convinced that the passage of time would allow him to come back to the same things, the same people. He’d be different, _they’d_ be different and who knows what would have happened between now and that subjective when.

“And to answer your question, Harry, that’s why I kissed you,” Daphne told him.

“I don’t understand,” Harry replied.

“I kissed you for the same reason that you have to go, that if I didn’t, I’d always regret it, always wonder what it would have been like. I’m sure that I’ll still wonder what might have been. But if you go now, you can come back and who knows,” she finished with a shrug.

“I’m glad you did, Daph,” Harry told her quietly. “Kiss me, that is. It was nice, I liked it.”

“Me too, Harry, me too.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_11:00am_

_Sun, 25 June 1995_

_Harry’s Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

“Nice to finally meetcha properly, Mister Potter,” Alexander Vellios, the Head Dragon Handler of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary said, shaking his hand.

“I’m sorry that we couldn’t talk last night,” Harry apologised.

Alexander held up a hand. “No need. I understand how these things can be. Now, have you decided what you’re gonna do? Are you interested in signing a contract with the Dragon Reserves?”

“That depends, Mister Vellios, what did you decide about the alterations that I asked to be made to the contract?” Harry asked.

“The pay, time off, bonus’, all of that, no worries at all,” Alexander replied. “As to you completing your A-levels, you agreed to cover the cost yourself, so that’s no worries, providing that it don’t impact on your dragon keeper responsibilities.”

Harry nodded and smiled.

“Now, as to the length of contract,” Alexander replied. “Are you certain that you won’t sign on for either the original option – until you finish your NEWTs plus one year? Or even simply until you finish your NEWTs?”

“I don’t think that that’s a good idea,” Harry replied. “That’s a long, long time and if either you or I decide that the job isn’t a good fit for me, we’d both be stuck. No, I’d much prefer to sign until I get all my OWLs with an option of resigning after that.”

Alexander and Charlie shared a long look before Alexander sighed.

“If it wasn’t for your parselmouth ability and young Weasley here vouching for you, I’d tell you to get lost. But we haven’t had a dragon talker working with the dragons for a very, very long time. So, you’ve got a deal, Mister Potter. We’ll offer the contract from one month from now until you complete all of your OWL examinations with the option of renewal after that.”

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed.

Alexander pulled a roll of parchment from the inside of his robes and offered it to Harry, who spent the next ten minutes reading it over.

“I just sign at the bottom?” Harry asked.

“Yep,” Alexander replied. “Here. Being a contract, you’ll need to use a blood quill. Then I’ll sign and Weasley’ll sign as witness.”

Harry took the quill with distaste, remembering the way it stung the last time that he’d used one at Gringotts. Quickly, he signed his name before handing the quill back and spinning the contract around. Once Alexander and Charlie had also signed, the Head Dragon Keeper tapped the scroll, creating a duplicate which he handed to Harry.

“This’s your copy and this,” he said, pulling out a dragon tooth from his pocket and handing it over, “is a portkey to the reserve. Tap it with your wand and say ‘Ramaranth’ and it’ll bring you straight to us.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, smiling at the pass-phrase.

“Right, then. Congratulations, Mister Potter and we’ll see you in a month’s time,” Alexander said, rising and shaking his hand.

“See you, Harry,” Charlie said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I look forward to working with you.

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

_5:15pm_

_Sun, 25 June 1995_

_The Grounds, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

.

It was a small group that moved slowly across the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But no matter how slow they moved, the time came inevitably closer to when one of their number would have to part.

Just inside the wards, only a few metres from the gates and the winged boars that sat upon them, the five stopped.

“You’ve got everything?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. “The reports from all my teachers and tutors,” he smiled at that, considering who he was with, “are in my trunk which is safely in my pocket.”

“And you won’t be alone, will you?” Hermione continued.

He smiled at her. “Stop worrying, Hermione, I’m an adult in case you’ve forgotten, even if I am younger than the four of you. And, no, I won’t be alone. Sirius is meeting me at the _Leaky Cauldron_ and I’ll be FLOO-ing straight there from _The Three Broomsticks_.”

“I’ll miss you, Harry,” Hermione said, flinging herself at him to hug the stuffing out of him.

Once she finally let go, Neville moved forward and clasped his hand.

“Take care of yourself, Harry. Dragons are dangerous, you know,” he smiled.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, and Nev? Keep an eye out for letters,” Harry said. “That goes for all of you, really, but Neville, you’ll want to open yours pretty quickly; I’ll be sending you a whole bunch of weird and exotic plants that I encounter on my travels.”

“Cheers, Harry,” Neville beamed. “That means a lot.”

Harry pulled a letter from his pocket and handed it to Susan.

“You know that you’re supposed to wait until you’ve gone away before sending me letters, don’t you, Harry?” Susan smiled.

“Yeah, but that one’s not for you, it’s for your aunt. There’s some information in there which I think she’ll find very interesting,” he replied.

“I’ll make sure she gets it,” Susan promised. “Take care of yourself, Harry and have fun.”

She, too gave him a hug before stepping back. In fact, the three of them moved away slightly to give him and Daphne a small bit of privacy.

“Well, I guess that this is it,” Harry said, reaching out and capturing her hands in his.

“Yeah, guess so,” Daphne replied and Harry could hear that she was only just holding herself together.

“I’m going to miss you most of all, you know,” he told her. “I’ll write as often as I can.”

“You better. And you can be sure that I will, too,” she promised.

He leaned forward, then and kissed her. It was long, sweet and filled with everything that neither could say. Eventually they drew apart slightly, their foreheads lightly touching.

“Goodbye, Harry,” she whispered.

“No. Not goodbye. It’s only farewell for now. We’ll see each other again before you know it,” Harry told her.

And then, before he could change his mind, he drew away from her, their hands lingering together for as long as possible. Then, with a last wave to Neville, Susan and Hermione, he turned and walked out of the gates of Hogwarts.

A sudden flap and weight on his shoulder announced Hedwig arriving.

“There you are, girl. I was wondering where you were,” Harry murmured. “Well, are you ready for our next adventure?”


End file.
